


Alchemy and the Order of the Rosy Cross

by charlottesweb



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Шерлок Холмс | Sherlock Holmes (TV 2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 53,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottesweb/pseuds/charlottesweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary is leaving John and going to work for MI 6. John moves in with Sherlock, but things are not so harmonious. Sherlock is starting to get bored and is beginning to take dangerous chances with his health. However, when Mycroft recruits Sherlock, John , and Mary for a mission, they must learn to work together if they are to stop an evil plot that is being hatched in Prague. A plot to use the ancient magic of alchemy to alter the natural structure of the world. As the mission unfolds, John vanishes after he goes under cover as a Rosicrucian.  Sherlock and Mary must find a way to reconcile their differences and rescue John before it is too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be read alone or in combination with my other two stories, if the reader decides to read all of my stories. The first one is All Things Mended, The Dark Waltz, Dance of Love-Sacred Geometry, then Alchemy and the Order of the Rosy Cross. Thank you.

John, Sherlock and Mary sat silently in John’s therapist’s office. Her kind, dark eyes searched the faces of each of her clients. John and Mary looked angry, confused and tired. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Everyone shifted in their chairs when the therapist finally spoke. “So, John why don’t tell me why the three of you have been ordered by the magistrate to attend counseling.”

Everyone started talking and pointing at once. The therapist sighed. “I believe that I addressed John. John?”

John shifted forward in his chair. “It all started when Mary lied about who she was. We finally got past that and then three weeks ago she tells me that she is not pregnant and never has been.”

Mary stood up. “Don’t make me the villain. I was afraid to tell you the truth, since you get so hysterical. However, after you told me about your night with Sherlock, I thought you might have developed enough courage to hear a dose of reality. Apparently I was mistaken.”

The therapist glanced at Sherlock. “Sherlock, what is your view?” Sherlock opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Well, it was my first time and I must say it was quite lovely. I definitely have been missing out on something by not indulging my sexuality.”

John ran his hand over his face. “Jesus, Sherlock, don’t you ever follow a conversation?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I thought that was the most logical response.”

Mary looked at John and Sherlock and shook her head.

**Three weeks previous.**

John dreaded the conservation he was going to have with Mary. He had to tell her he had slept with Sherlock. Mary padded into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “John, what did you want to tell me?”

John felt the pit of his stomach burning from stress. “Mary, while you were out of town, I stayed with Sherlock.”

Mary shrugged. “So, what is so different about that?”

John swallowed. “I spent the night with Sherlock and we…Um we well you know we …We…Sherlock and I slept together.”

Mary looked at John for a moment and started to laugh. “John, really and why is that not a surprise? You two have always been attached to each other. Well, fine I have something to tell you as well. John, I’m leaving you. I love you, but I’m not cut out for marriage. Mycroft offered me a job with MI 6 and I want to take it.”

John stared. “Mary, you can’t go off on some dangerous mission. You are going to have our baby. I promise I will never see Sherlock again, if that’s what it will take for you to stay.”

Mary had tears in her eyes. “John, it’s not Sherlock. I just can’t be married, I long for my old life. As far as the baby, there never was a baby. I knew you would eventually find out who I really was, so I started acting pregnant. I also knew that Sherlock would observe my symptoms and due to his massive ego I calculated that he would be the first person to point out his observations to everyone. I meant to tell you right away, but the time was never right.”

John was getting angry again. “So, Mary did you ever care for me?” His voice lost all traces of aggression. John felt so weary.

Mary walked over and hugged John. “John, I adore you. I will love you forever, but I can’t live the married life. I hate it. I am meant to be free.”

John’s chest felt tight. “God, I hope I don’t have another heart episode over this. Although it would serve you and Sherlock right if I dropped dead.”

“John, don’t talk like that.” Mary’s voice was a higher pitch than normal, which betrayed the stress she was under.

John angrily pushed away from the table. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

He slammed the door so hard the windows in the flat rattled. John wandered around London for hours. He wasn’t surprised when he ended up at 221B Baker Street. He took his key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and made his way to the living room to where his chair was. John gratefully sat down and let the familiarity of the flat surround him with comfort.

John knew Sherlock had entered the room even before he spoke. Sherlock was everything to him and John welcomed the thrill of electricity that ran through his body when Sherlock spoke his name. “John, are you alright? It must be at least 3am.” Sherlock limped over to where John was sitting and plopped down on the floor in front of his chair.

 John smiled. “Sherlock, let’s take a look at the heel to see how it is healing.” Sherlock leaned back and propped his foot on the chair in between John’s legs. John, then gently examined the place where a piece of glass had been embedded in the heel of his foot. “It’s healing nicely.” John’s voice sounded extra loud to his own ears. He hadn’t failed to notice how Sherlock had leaned into his touch. John loved how Sherlock appeared to be so detached, and yet his body always responded with anticipation whenever John touched him. Sherlock’s foot was shaking as he moved it back to the floor. John bowed his head down. “Sherlock, Mary has left me. She never was pregnant. I am so boring she can’t even be with me anymore. I’m Mr. Nice Guy-Mr. Boring.”

Sherlock stood up and walked around to the back of John’s chair and embraced John from behind, as he ran his hands down John’s chest. John gasped. “Sherlock, now might not be the best time.”

Sherlock was nuzzling John’s neck. “Nonsense, what I have in mind will help you much more than talking.”

John leaned into Sherlock’s embrace. “God, are you always right? Sherlock…” John’s voice trailed off in a breathless whisper. Sherlock was always full of surprises and tonight was no exception.

John followed Sherlock into his bedroom. Once inside John took Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock shook his head. “John, as much as I want you I think you just need to rest.” Sherlock then dove under the covers and patted the bed. “Come on, John.” John felt like an awkward canine as he plopped down beside Sherlock. As soon as John was safely wrapped in Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock’s large, white Afghan dog jumped in the middle of them. Sherlock laughed. “Come on, Confetti. John won’t bite.”

John looked over at Sherlock. “You named the dog confetti?”

Sherlock snuggled closer to John and Confetti. “Yes, it fits him. Get some sleep, John we will talk tomorrow.”

John fell asleep immediately. Once Sherlock was sure that John was totally out he crawled out of bed and made his way to the living room. Sherlock caressed the Moroccan red leather case in his pocket. He wanted a fix so bad he could taste it. After all most of John’s problems were probably all his fault. A fine sheen of sweat beaded in small drops on Sherlock’s forehead as he fantasized about the needle going into his vein. God, Sherlock could almost feel the feel of the cold morphine as it spread through his body. Sherlock leaned his head back and gasped in an effort to ignore the need that shook his body violently. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice John hovering over him.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John’s voice was full of worry.

Sherlock rolled his eyes back to focus on John. “John, the need is making its way through my body as we speak. I will resist it; however, it might not be a pleasant night, so you may as well go back to bed.”

“Sherlock, I can distract you.” John whispered.

“John, go back to bed. I crave the drug, as I crave you. The thought of the morphine and you both making their way through my body, is such an intoxicating idea that I can barely contain myself. John, you could inject me with just a little and then I would take you in my arms. We could both forget about everything. Please John just a little.” Sherlock’s hands shook as he reached in his robe; the Moroccan case seemed to burn in his palm.

John took the case from Sherlock. “Sherlock, how much have you been using?”

Sherlock was clutching his stomach as nausea tore through him. “John, I haven’t been using that much, just a little every day.”

“Jesus, Sherlock I don’t need this. If you and I can’t wean you off of this poison, you are going to have to go to rehab.” John took the syringe out of its case and held it out to Sherlock. “Show me how much you have been taking.” Sherlock pointed to the smallest marker. John glared at Sherlock. “Sherlock, tell me the truth.” Sherlock sighed and pointed to a mark higher up on the syringe. John nodded. “Sherlock, give me your arm.” John inspected it; the track marks weren’t too deep. “Sherlock, I am going to inject you with a slightly lower dose of the morphine. You know I could lose my license for this. However, you going cold turkey isn’t going to do either one of us any good tonight. Sherlock, you must promise me that you will follow my detox program.” John took the morphine vial and filled the syringe. It was hard to ignore the desire that filled Sherlock’s eyes as he watched John prepare the dosage. John then gently injected Sherlock with the morphine. Sherlock sighed in relief, and then locked eyes with John.

John swallowed and thought. “God, I must be some kind of pervert this is turning me on.”

“John, come here.” Sherlock’s voice was silky like a vampire in one of those erotic movies. John shook his head.

“Sherlock, as much as I am turned on right now, we both need to get well.” Sherlock slipped off his robe. John shook his head. “Jesus, how come you never have anything on under that robe?” Suddenly, the events of the day caught up with John. “Sherlock, what are we going to do? I’m so tired of everything nothing seems to ever work out for me.” John ignored Sherlock’s state of undress. “I don’t know why I put up with you Sherlock. Come on let’s get you to bed.”

Sherlock let John take him upstairs to his bedroom. John tucked Sherlock in bed and then kissed him on the forehead. “Goodnight, Sherlock. We will get this all sorted out tomorrow. I guess we are stuck with each other.”

*******

Mrs. Hudson hovered over John and Sherlock like a mother hen with her chicks. “Sherlock, you are looking so much better now that John is here taking care of you. It’s so nice to see how you boys care for each other.” She smiled as John and Sherlock drank tea and ate biscuits. Sherlock snuck a few tidbits under the table for Confetti. Mrs. Hudson smiled at the domestic scene before her and left.

John slapped his newspaper down so hard that Confetti jumped and ran out of the room. “John, you scared the dog.” Sherlock admonished.

John glared at Sherlock. “Well, maybe it’s because that dog is the only thing you’re nice to these days. I know you are in detox, but I am sick of being your whipping boy.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, with a wicked grin. “Your whipping boy?”

John abruptly got up from the table and stopped when he heard the bell ring from the front door. Sherlock looked up. “Ah, that would be Mary.”

John stared at Sherlock with an incredulous look. “Did you know she was coming by?”

Sherlock clasped his hands together in front of him. “No, I deduced that the pressure exerted on the door bell …”

John interrupted Sherlock and sighed. “Sherlock, I don’t care about your deductions. I am going to do the logical thing and answer the bloody door.” John opened the door for Mary. She looked wonderful and John felt a lump in his throat. How could two people love each other as much as he and Mary had; and end up like this? John cleared his throat. “Hi Mary, how are you?” John hated the nasal sound his voice made when he was nervous.

Mary nodded. “I’m fine, John just fine and you?” John shrugged. “I’m fine too.” “God, this bloody awkward,” John thought.

Mary swept past him into the kitchen. Sherlock looked up. “Hi, Mary, I would get you a chair, but since you aren’t pregnant, I hardly think it matters.”

Mary sighed and shook her head. “Well, it’s the same, rude, boorish old Sherlock. It’s nice to know some things don’t change.”

Sherlock nodded in Mary’s direction. “Why thank you Mary, it’s nice to know someone cares.”

Mary looked from John to Sherlock. “Oh, it looks like you two are having a domestic. Should I leave, then?”

John shook his head wearily. “I’m going back to bed. I don’t care what you two do.”

Mary made a move to stop John. “John, you know I really feel bad for you. First you get me and then you get Sherlock. You deserve better, and God knows Sherlock is not better. He leads you around by your nose and you clean up after him every time. John, I can accept that we weren’t meant to be, but Sherlock, really? Sherlock is an indulgent, spoiled, narcissistic, on again off again drug addict, who only thinks of himself. John,” Mary’s voice was softer. “Sherlock will never be able to take care of himself properly, let alone you. You will always be the one he leans on and when you need someone, he will conveniently claim he is a sociopath, and leave you to lick your wounds alone. It’s all about the chase with Sherlock. Now that he has you, well, John, you will bore him and he will leave you. John, find someone who is capable of caring for you. Sherlock is only in love with himself and will probably end up dead of an overdose in an alley somewhere, or worse yet get himself killed looking for the case that will give him his next fix.”

Sherlock had sat quietly until Mary had finished then he went and stood beside John. “Mary, everything you are saying about me is true. However, I care for John, more than you could ever know.”

Mary smiled sadly. “Sherlock, if that were true, how come you faked your death and ignored him for two years? How come he has had to come and rescue you time after time? Sherlock, you’re a robot, only turning to John when it is convenient for you. Sherlock you ….”

John spoke for the first time. “Mary, please don’t talk to Sherlock like that.”

Sherlock smirked at Mary. “See you are incorrect, Mary  John…”

John yelled. “Both of you STOP, NOW” For a moment Sherlock and Mary were silent.

Mary was the first to speak. “John, look at this place, it is a pig sty. There are so many dishes piled up in the sink they are starting to overflow on to the counter.

Sherlock walked over and sniffed at the pile of dishes. “You are quite right, Mary they really are starting to smell. I will have to get Mrs. Hudson to clean up.”

Mary rolled her eyes and gestured towards the mess. “See, you can’t even clean up after yourself. Mrs. Hudson is not your housekeeper.”

John was thoroughly pissed by this time. “You two want the dishes done?” John then walked over and scooped up a handful of dishes, opened the window and threw them out the window. The sound of brakes squealing filled the room. Sherlock, John, and Mary winced as the metallic thud of cars impacting each other drowned out all other sounds.

Sherlock moved his head in time to each crash. “Was that seven or eight crashes? I counted eight. John, Mary, how many crashes did you count?”

The next sound they all heard was the wailing of sirens.

**The Present**

“Well, that was about it. The police then came up and arrested all three of us.” John’s mouth was dry after all the talking, so he just leaned back in his chair.

The therapist looked from one to the other, and was about to speak when Sherlock clapped his hands together.

“Well, according to my calculations the session is over. Come on John and Mary, let’s go.” Sherlock’s voice was full of enthusiasm. Sherlock, John and Mary left the office and then stood together out on the sidewalk outside the therapist’s office. They all three looked unhappy and confused.

Sherlock was the first to speak. “John, I don’t see how you can stand therapy, I don’t feel better at all. I don’t think we should go again, it’s boring.”

John was about to reply when a black limo pulled up to the curb. Even before the window rolled down John knew it was Mycroft, Sherlock’s brother.

Mycroft poked his head out the window. “I need you three to get in.” His soft voice purred. Once inside the limo Mycroft took a spacious seat facing Sherlock, John and Mary. He looked mildly amused as they jostled each other for a comfortable place.

“Sherlock, why don’t you go and sit with your brother?” Mary’s voice was full of exasperation.

Sherlock looked straight ahead. “You go sit with him, Mary.”

“For God’s sake will someone go sit with him? I am being crushed in the middle.” John complained. “Why am I the one in the middle?”

Sherlock looked at John with a patronizing glance. “I should think that would be obvious.”

John leaned forward as far as he could manage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sherlock sighed. “You are the smallest, John.”

John looked outraged. “Mary is smaller than I am.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Nope, she outweighs you by…”

Mary interrupted Sherlock. “Oh for God’s sake, I’ll sit next to Mycroft.”

Mary squeezed out of her seat and sat next to Mycroft. She then glared at Sherlock. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

Mycroft smiled, he clearly was enjoying the tension between Sherlock, John and Mary. “Well, are you three ready to stop quarreling for a moment? I have a mission I need you to go on.”

Mary looked over at Mycroft. “When do I leave?” Mycroft laughed. Sherlock dreaded that sound, for it meant that something unpleasant was going to happen. “I need all three of you to go to Eastern Europe.”

Sherlock swallowed. “All three of us are to go? Is this a no return mission like the last one you were going to send me on?”

John whipped his head around to look at Sherlock. “What do you mean a no return mission like the last time?”

Sherlock waved him away. “John, you worry too much. After I shot Magnusson, I was banished from England. Mycroft was sending me on a no return mission to Eastern Europe. How long was I to last six months?”

John’s pupils were totally dilated as he leaned forward in his seat. “You sent Sherlock on a suicide mission?”

Mycroft shrugged. “It was better than him languishing away in a prison cell. Besides Moriarty showed up, making the decision to banish Sherlock immaterial.” Mycroft leaned back and reached under his seat and took out a decanter of Scotch. “Would anyone like a drink?”

All three voices answered in unison. “Yes.”

Mycroft prepared three glasses then smiled. “First of all I got you all out of therapy, so no need to worry about that.”

Sherlock nodded. “Why Mycroft that was decent of you. Thank you.”

Mycroft ignored Sherlock’s mocking tone. “Have you ever heard of Rosicrucianism?”

Sherlock was the first to answer. “You mean the secret society founded in the 16th century by Christian Rosenkreuz?”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. Well, I am sure you are aware of their experiments in alchemy.”

Sherlock sniffed. “Of course I am, who isn’t?”

Mycroft continued on. “As you know the Rosicrucian’s believe that the esoteric nature of our universe could be revealed to man in such a way that would enable an individual or individuals to manipulate the physical universe.”

John looked confused. “What? I don’t understand.”

Sherlock ignored John. “Mycroft continue, I will explain it to John later.”

Mycroft nodded. “There is an old legend that an ancient text exists that would enable man to turn simple dust into gold and to transmute his essence into a threefold manifestation.”

Mary interrupted this time. “That sounds like some kind of fairy tale. You know like Grimm’s fairy tales.”

Sherlock and John both said, “NO,” in unison.

Mycroft’s glare silenced any more unwanted comments. “Mary, there was a secret society that practiced alchemy from the 1500’s through 1600’s, the Order at this time was said to consist of no more than eight members, each was a doctor and a confirmed bachelor. We have sufficient evidence that the order has re banded and possesses knowledge that could potentially alter our world. John, that’s where you fit into the mission, you are a single doctor. We want you to infiltrate their society.”

John protested. “Wait, a minute, Mary and I are still married.”

Mycroft looked over at Mary. “Mary, you didn’t tell him?”

John looked frantic. “Tell me what?”

Mary’s voice was gentle; it had the same tone of softness that she used to comfort John through his grief over Sherlock’s death. “John, I had papers drawn up. I am divorcing you.”

Mycroft ignored the stricken look on John’s face. “So, that settle’s it. Are you all three ready for a trip to Prague?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Sherlock and Mary make their way to Prague. Mary goes off on her portion and Sherlock stands by as John disappears in order to join the Rosicrucians. Sherlock can help feeling an evil foreboding and he feels helpless to protect John from this unknown danger.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed watching John pack. There was something hypnotic about the way John moved that never ceased to fascinate Sherlock. John, feeling Sherlock’s gaze turned around.

“Sherlock, why are you staring? Sherlock, what’s wrong?” John’s voice had a hard edge to it. It was the kind of hardness that loved ones of persons with addictive personalities used when faced with the possibility that something terrible was going to happen again.

Sherlock observed the tone of John’s voice and kept silent. He wanted to tell John that every move he made was a source of excitement. John could be bringing in groceries, taking out the trash, or just sitting around in his robe and Sherlock found each movement that John made was as thrilling as any steps a dancer performed.  Instead of voicing any of the thoughts that he was thinking, Sherlock pushed himself off the bed and started to leave the room.

John stopped packing and moved towards Sherlock. “Sherlock, you can tell me what is it?”

Sherlock wanted to tell John that he didn’t want him to go on the assignment in Prague. He wanted to tell John that his chest felt heavy every time he contemplated John’s being in danger. He wanted to …he wanted to…. Sherlock turned to leave the room, but John’s steely grip on his arm held Sherlock in place.

“Sherlock, you need to tell me what’s going on. I’m not clairvoyant you know.”

Sherlock smiled. “John, I am rubbing off on you. When I first met you would never have used the word clairvoyant to describe your inability to penetrate the human mind. You most likely would have said something like; I’m not a mind reader you know.”

John let go of Sherlock’s arm. “Oh, for God’s sake I have no idea what you are trying to say, however I’m fairly certain it has nothing to do with my vocabulary, or lack thereof.”

Sherlock moved closer to John and everything that he was going to say just simply vanished away, so Sherlock just leaned forward and pulled John into an embrace. When his lips met John’s, it was as if a bolt of electricity shot through his entire body. Sherlock, frantically reached for John’s shirt, as he ripped it open, buttons flew everywhere.

“Sherlock that was a brand new shirt.” John exclaimed. Sherlock, didn’t answer as he ran his hands over John’s bare chest. John gasped. “Sherlock, I don’t care about the bloody shirt.” John then began to return Sherlock’s kisses. John had always loved kissing; however, with Sherlock it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Sherlock’s tongue explored every square inch of John’s mouth, only stopping once in a while to catch his breath. Sherlock unbuckled John’s pants and with one downward motion, John’s pants and underwear were draped around his ankles.

A few moments later John lay naked on the bed. Sherlock’s gazed lingered first on John’s face, and then slowly he visually took in the rest of John’s body. John’s face flushed under the scrutiny.

“Sherlock, I’ m getting a little self-conscious here. Are you going to join me or just window shop?”

Sherlock climbed on the bed; still fully clothed he straddled himself over John and began to kiss him.  Gradually, Sherlock’s clothes came off one by one until he was naked as well. For a moment Sherlock lay on top of John and held him tight, and then it was if he came to life after a long sleep. Sherlock’s hands and mouth were everywhere. John marveled at how Sherlock knew every erogenous spot on his body. Sherlock didn’t just make love to John; he consumed him physically and mentally. John sighed with pleasure after climaxing. After making love to Sherlock, John always fell into a deep sleep, however, this time he fought to stay awake. Sherlock turned his head sideways, so that he could listen to John’s heartbeat.

John squirmed  in order to find a comfortable position. Sherlock was getting heavy. “Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“John, be quiet. I am listening to your heartbeat.” Sherlock’s voice was tense and commanding.

“Well, Doctor do I pass the test?” John chuckled.

Sherlock sighed. “I just don’t want you having another heart episode.”

John sat up. “Sherlock, for God’s sake it was only a mild heart episode. I’m fine. Now why don’t you tell me what is really bothering you? You’ve been cagey all day.”

Sherlock stared back at John. His emotions were so chaotic. How was he to tell John, that for the first time in his life Sherlock felt real fear? What if something happened to John? What if he, Sherlock were not able to rescue him? What if he and John were separated? The uncertainty of the future tormented Sherlock.”

John gently took Sherlock’s arm. “Sherlock, talk to me. What is bothering you?”

Sherlock moved himself even closer to John. “John, you are my kryptonite.”

John smoothed his hand over Sherlock’s wet curls. “Sherlock, Sherlock, I think you are finally feeling what it means to be vulnerable. Welcome to the human race.” John rubbed the tenseness out of Sherlock’s shoulders and then lay back on a pillow. He tried to fight the urge to fall asleep, but eventually exhaustion overtook John and as he rested Sherlock watched him sleep. Confetti came in a few moments later and jumped on the bed.  Sherlock listened to the small breathing sounds that John and Confetti made as they slept. Around dawn, Sherlock finally drifted off to sleep.

Mycroft and Mary arrived at the flat bright and early the next morning. Sherlock’s mind felt foggy from loss of sleep. He barely remembered giving Mrs. Hudson instructions on how to feed Confetti, before they were whisked away to the airport in Mycroft’s limo.

John often thought that more people would enjoy flying if they went in a private plane. Jesus, the inside of Mycroft’s jet was like a living room. Sherlock spouted out non-stop facts and figures about Prague as he swiveled back and forth in his chair. John could tell that Sherlock was fighting exhaustion and that soon he would need to wind down.

“Sherlock, you’re making me dizzy with all the swirling around.” John complained.

Sure enough Sherlock stopped swirling in his chair and flopped down on the floor in a pout. However, within five minutes he was asleep. John smiled to himself. Like a hyperactive child, Sherlock had finally worn himself out.

                                    ***

John marveled at the sights and sounds of Prague. It had not been bombed extensively during WWII, so many of the buildings were hundreds of years old. Mary had been sent to contact an old business associate to gain the supplies they needed and Sherlock and John were to meet their contact in the ancient Jewish cemetery.  The Jewish cemetery in Prague is one the oldest cemeteries in the world. There at least twelve burial levels to the cemetery, which made the tombstones, look like the jagged layers of a shark’s teeth. John shivered. “What a creepy place.” John whispered to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded, but didn’t answer. The moon was full and illuminated everything in the cemetery, leaving no place for Sherlock and John to hide. “What a perfect place for a ghost story.” John mused.

Sherlock whirled around. “For God’s sakes John, be quiet I can’t think while you are nattering on.”

John was about ready to reply when a dark figure emerged beside them. He motioned for them to follow him and soon they were winding their way further into the city. John tried to make a mental note of landmarks, but finally gave up. “This place is like a maze,” John thought warily. Their guide finally stopped in front of one of the long tall structures that must have housed thousands of Jewish people before WWII. The streets that had once been full of happy children were now silent and empty. A whisper of wind blew through the street, ruffling John’s hair. He stood still for a moment, willing the foreboding of death to pass over him.

“John, come on”, Sherlock whispered as they followed their guide into the lower level of the house. The inside of the small apartment was just as dismal as the outside. Everything was maintained, however, the spirit of heaviness that John had felt outside had drifted inside as well. Only when they were safely inside with the door shut did their guide speak.

“My name is Sherwin,” he said as he shook Sherlock’s hand and then John’s. “Dr. Watson, I can’t thank you enough for your service to the order. Something is terribly wrong and we need another person on the inside besides me.”

John nodded. “Mycroft briefed us on the situation. However, I’m not sure how plausible it’s going to be with Sherlock and Mary here. That is just too much of a coincidence for anyone to swallow.”

Sherwin nodded. “I agree that’s why you are going to tell the truth when I introduce you to the order.” Sherwin then walked over to the sink, washed his hands and offered Sherlock and John a cup of tea.

Sherlock leaned forward. “Our cover story is that we are investigating the theft of some of the gold garments of the little infant of Prague.”

John leaned forward. “How do we know you are telling the truth?”

Sherlock observed Sherwin. “He is telling the truth. The dark circles under his eyes suggest that he had been having trouble sleeping. The fact that his eyes are not dulled in luster suggests that his insomnia stems from an emotional upset, rather than a physical illness. The cuticles around his nail beds have been chewed which would also indicate that he is very nervous. The fact that he has made direct eye contact, his pupils have not dilated, and he has not had to think about his replies would suggest that he is telling the truth. His hands appear to be overly dry which would further suggest that he washes them often, as a Doctor would.  After washing his hands he held them up like so.” Sherlock held his hands out with palms up to demonstrate. “Combine that with the fact that the medical degree hanging on your wall is written on parchment stationary that is only used on Oxford Diplomas. Oh and I also recognize the dean’s signature. All of these indicators point to the fact that he is the genuine article.”

Sherwin looked over at John. “My God, that was remarkable. Is he always so outrageously spot on?”

John grinned. “Yep, pretty much.”

Sherwin shook his head in amazement and continued with his story. “Anyway I think honesty is the best policy with the members of the order. The only thing we will not tell them is that I summoned for help. We are meeting tonight, so John do you feel up to it?”

Before John could answer Sherlock stood. “He is going in so soon? We just got here and well maybe John should adjust to the climate before he goes running off in the night.”

John patted Sherlock on the back. “It’s alright, Sherlock. The sooner we can get this wrapped up, the sooner we can go home.”

They finished their tea and stood huddled outside of Sherwin’s apartment. Sherlock wanted to throw his arms around John and beg him not to go, instead he just signaled John with his eyes like he had so many times before. The expression conveyed that he would stand by John at any cost. Then before he knew it John and Sherwin disappeared into the inky blackness of the night. John was gone. Sherlock stood for a few moments controlling his breathing, and then he made his way back to the hotel where he and Mary were staying.

 

 

 


	3. Point of no Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock looked away from Mary for a moment. The contact had been about to say something about transmutation. Mori… Sherlock and Mary didn't say it aloud, however, the implication hung between them like a deadly spider. Mori…MORIARTY.

As Sherlock made his way back to the hotel, he was glad that he had studied the layout of the city before they left London. Though Prague was picturesque, a person would not want to get lost in those dark winding streets. If Sherlock had been a superstitious person he would have sworn the city was haunted. As, he pulled his jacket around him and flipped up the collar Sherlock felt a little pang in his stomach as he thought of how John used to laugh at the dramatic way he wrapped his coat around him with the collar up. John. Each step Sherlock made took him further away from John. This was a new sensation, for Sherlock had never missed anyone before, except for Redbeard of course.

Sherlock had never felt so cold, and it was with great relief that he stood in front of his hotel. The structure had most likely been built in the 18th Century and the light from its cheerful windows beckoned Sherlock  to safety.  Quickly he went inside and ran up the stairs to his room. Slipping his card key in the lock, Sherlock opened the door. Mary stood all in black as she pointed a gun at him and Sherlock had no doubt the safety wasn’t on.

“If you’re going to shoot, do it,” Sherlock said wearily as he flopped down on a bed.

Mary stood for a moment, and then put the gun away. “You are going to have to text me before you open the door, or I just might accidently shoot you.” For moment Mary stared off in the distance, fantasizing about bullet hole through Sherlock’s heart. She sighed John would never forgive her. “You need to get dressed, Sherlock. We are going to meet our target at the ballet.”

“The ballet?” Sherlock queried.

Mary stared at Sherlock like he was an idiot. “Yes, you know the ballet, where people dance. Jeannie told me you love dancing, so hurry up.”

Sherlock thought he might refuse, but then one look from Mary silenced him. The ballet was Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. At any other time Sherlock would have enjoyed the haunting music, however, it’s eerie foreshadowing for the doomed lovers only made Sherlock feel uneasy. At the break he and Mary were to go out for a smoke, and that’s where their contact would be. Sherlock smoked an entire cigarette before he finally whispered to Mary. “Where the hell is he?” As if in answer to his question a small, pale frightened man made his way in their direction. He walked up to Sherlock.

“Do, you have an extra cigarette?” he asked casually.

Sherlock nodded and handed him a cigarette. The man drew in a few breaths before he spoke.

“Has Doctor Watson already gone to join the order?” The man quickly looked around as he said it.

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, what does that have to do with the Little Infant of Prague?”

The man sighed with exasperation. “You have got to get him out of there. He is in terrible danger. The clothing that was stolen from the Little Infant is only a portion of the puzzle. The transmutation of Mori….” The man’s voice trailed off as a bullet struck him in the throat. He tried to speak, but only gurgling sounds came out. Mary pulled out her gun looking around, then she grabbed Sherlock and they ran. Sherlock could hear sirens in the distance and he couldn’t help thinking about the time he and John ran through London handcuffed together. As desperate as the situation had been, Sherlock had loved the feel of John’s hand in his.

He and Mary ran through the streets of Prague, only when Mary was sure they weren’t being followed did they stop to catch their breath. Sherlock’s lungs felt like they were burning as he gasped for more air. Mary was barely out of breath. She glanced over at Sherlock in irritation. “Are you ready to move? We can’t go back to our hotel, it’s not safe. We are going to have to find another way to keep in contact with John.”

Sherlock felt like he was out of the loop and he didn’t like it. “Mary, explain please.”

Mary sighed. “Well, as you know one of the outfits of the Little Infant of Prague was stolen. It was one of the oldest outfits, one which was said to have gold threads woven in it. These threads are said to have been made from the gold of Solomon’s mines. Many years ago the Rosicrucian’s believed that this particular gold had magical properties in it that could assist the alchemists in achieving transmutation.”

Sherlock was wrapping his head around the facts. ‘Transmutation, what sort of transmutation, from dust to gold?”

Mary locked eyes with Sherlock. “No, it wasn’t for the transmutation of gold. It was for transmutation of the human body.”

Sherlock looked away from Mary for a moment. The contact had been about to say something about transmutation. Mori… Sherlock and Mary didn’t say it aloud, however, the implication hung between them like a deadly spider. Mori…MORIARTY.

John followed his guide through the dark streets, eventually they came to a synagogue, and Sherwin led John to a door. Sherwin then turned to John. “John, I have to blind fold you from here on out.”

John was beginning to feel he was part of some cultic nightmare; however, he nodded his head in acquiesce as Sherwin slipped a blind fold over his eyes. John had never been good at trust exercises and this one was particularly daunting, as Sherwin led him through a maze of turns and steps. Eventually, they came to a stop and Sherwin removed the blind fold. John blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light. The room was nothing like he expected. His thoughts must have shown on his face.

Sherwin laughed. “Are you disappointed Dr. Watson? Did you think there would be men with dark robes and a sacrificial virgin on a candle lit slab in the middle of the room?”

John chuckled. “Call me John, and yes I thought the room would be a little more atmospheric.” John looked around him; the work area appeared to be just a basic science lab. Computers, beakers and containers crowded the sterile looking tables throughout the lab. Sherwin introduced to John to the six other inhabitants of the room. Once the introductions were out of the way, Sherwin showed John to a small room with a cot.

 “I am sorry the accommodations are not more spacious.” Sherwin apologized.

John waved him off. “They look a damn site better than the ones I had in Afghanistan.”

Sherwin looked relieved, and then he paused. “John, you have not been swore into the order yet, so you will need to stay in the living quarters. For now the lab is off limits to you. Oh, and I’m sure your cell phone won’t work down here, however, could you please had it over to me? You can have it back once you leave the complex. There is some reading material in your quarters and there is also a tablet with reading material on it in the kitchen.” John nodded, then reluctantly handed over his phone. “Oh, and John, if you have weapons on you I will need those as well.” John sighed and handed over his hand gun and a knife, he kept the small metal club he kept on him hidden in his shoe. After Sherwin left, John leaned back on his cot, wondering just what the hell he had gotten himself into this time.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4 Dark Pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock smiled as he kissed John. Whenever Sherlock physically touched him, John always felt as if a bolt of electricity sizzled through his body. Sherlock’s hands steadied John’s back as the kiss consumed them both, then John gasped in horror, as he pulled back, it wasn't Sherlock he was kissing, and it was Moriarty.

John awoke with a start; he was sweating and breathing heavily. For a moment John was disorientated and then realized that he had been dreaming. The dream was a real dozy, it definitely trumped any nightmare that John had about Afghanistan in the past. John leaned back on his cot to try and remember the dream, so that he could analyze it. The dream had started out like this. John ran through darkened corridors in some sort of cave. The only light came from torches in the shape of skulls. John’s legs were starting to ache and his chest felt like it was on fire and he knew that his pursuer would soon catch him. John finally stumbled and fell to his knees. A hand reached out and jerked him to his feet, it was Sherlock.

John blinked several times. “Sherlock, is that you?”

Sherlock smiled as he kissed John. Whenever Sherlock physically touched him, John always felt as if a bolt of electricity sizzled through his body. Sherlock’s hands steadied John’s back as the kiss consumed them both, then John gasped in horror, as he pulled back, it wasn’t Sherlock he was kissing, and it was Moriarty.

Moriarty laughed as John struggled to disentangle himself from the firm grasp that held him tight. “John, I can see now what Sherlock sees in you. You are so responsive. Let me show you the difference between Sherlock and I. Sherlock is on the side of the angels, whereas I am well you know…I’m not.

John struggled as Moriarty forced him to the ground. “John, don’t fight me. I am going to take you no matter what, so you might as well enjoy it.” Moriarty held John’s body tightly between his knees. He then pulled on John’s ears, until John yelped. Once his mouth was open, Moriarty forced his tongue inside John’s mouth. John tried to flip Moriarty, however, Moriarty just laughed. “Come on, John. You’ve fought hard enough to convince yourself you don’t want this. Now stop or I will hurt you.” John winced as Moriarty held his throat with one hand and with the other hand he ripped John’s shirt open. John was starting to tire and he knew he wasn’t a match for Moriarty’s super human strength. John gasped as Moriarty unbuttoned his pants. “John, come on don’t fight me. I can see you want this as much as I. Come on John, Jim wants to consume you. Let me burn the heart out of you.” Tears of frustration and fear ran down John’s cheeks, Moriarty was going to have his way, so John closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.

Reliving the dream made John sick at his stomach. “I am out of my depth,” he whispered aloud to the empty room. The nightmare was so real that John looked down at his shirt to make sure it still had the buttons on it. He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked and saw that his shirt buttons were still intact. John knew that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so he stared up at the ceiling until he heard a soft tap on his door.

“John, are you awake?” A muffled voice from the other side of the door asked.

John opened the door and let Sherwin in. “I’m awake.” John answered quietly.

Sherwin studied John’s face. “John, are you alright? You look terrible. Maybe you just need something to eat and a shower.”

John smiled sadly. “Yes, that must be it.”

Sherwin handed John a sweatshirt and a pair of sweats and then pointed him in the direction of the shower. “When you’re done come on in the kitchen and we’ll have breakfast and discuss your upcoming nomination.”

John nodded and then made his way to the shower. As John entered the bathroom, he checked everywhere to make sure there was no one else in the room, he then locked the door. For a moment John paused, and then he hesitantly took off his clothes and jumped in the shower. Even though John knew there was no one else in the room, he took the quickest shower of his life. John shivered he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He slipped on the sweats and then John made his way to the small kitchen. Sherwin was already eating some cereal and John felt a little disappointed, he was hoping for a more substantial breakfast. Then a terrible thought occurred to him, what if the order was into fasting?

As if reading his thoughts, Sherwin smiled. “Breakfast is a little sparse; however, dinner is a real treat. Once of the Doctors of the order is a superb cook.”

John nodded absent mindedly. “Sure, that’s fine.”

Sherwin frowned. “John, are you sure you’re alright? Did you sleep okay last night?”

John’s head jerked up, and then he realized that Sherwin was just asking routine questions that anyone might ask a quest. John smiled. “Everything is fine. I just have a lot on my mind.”

Sherwin nodded in understanding. “Don’t worry about the induction ceremony. I don’ think anyone will black ball you. There is a little tradition to the ceremony, however, I promise you that we don’t make human sacrifices, or run around with goat’s horns on our heads.”

John was starting to relax. “Really, I was hoping for at least the goat horns.”

Sherwin laughed. “No, sorry to disappoint you, John, however, I will be the one to guide you through the ceremony. Once you have been voted in, then your name will be called and I will step forward as your guide. I will blind fold you and guide you through the patterns, then your blindfold will be removed and you will pledge your honor to the order. I am going to give you a book to look over. It will explain some of the ceremony; however, the book must not leave the premises.”

  John nodded and took the book from Sherwin.

Sherwin got up to leave. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll check back with you around lunch time.” Sherwin then walked over to an intercom on the wall, if you have an emergency, just depress the button and someone will come straight away.

John licked his lips nervously. “What about my phone? Can I call someone to let them I’m alright?”

Sherwin fingered his chin. “John, I can’t give you back your cell phone until you leave the premises. However, if you give me the number of the person, I will send them a text to verify that you are okay.”

John didn’t like the idea of being trapped, however, it wasn’t as if he had a choice, so he sighed and gave Sherwin Sherlock’s number. Once Sherwin left, John unenthusiastically finished his cereal and then took a look at the book Sherwin gave him. The book was small and unassuming from the outside; there was the snake and  rod medical symbol on the front cover and nothing else. John opened the book. He almost expected some sort of magical dust to shower him as John turned to the first page; however, nothing of the sort happened. In fact, the book was pretty dull. The ceremony was laid out in detail, explaining each pattern the inductee would walk through and the verbal instructions that would take place. John felt that there was something familiar about the pattern, but he couldn’t quite place it. John flipped to the end of the induction ceremony, nothing seemed strange or evil. The rest of the book was blotted out and John assumed that he would be able to peruse through the rest of the book after he has an official brother. Even though the contents of the book were blotted out, the titles of each chapter were not blotted out. Most of the titles related to medical procedures, things like Alchemy for Vision, Lungs, Various Diseases, John briefly thumbed through the titles until one caught his eye. It read, “Transmutation, Projection, and Simulated Death of the Human Body and Spirit.” John felt his scalp prickle as he re-read the title. “Simulated Death of the Human Body and Spirit,” John mused aloud. He felt a chill run down his spine as he recalled Moriarty’s laugh from his nightmare.


	5. Pattern of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft came back a few minutes with a clear bag. Sherlock rifled through the contents of the bag. A wallet, nail clippers, pocket change, a money clip, and two iPhones. “Why two?” Sherlock asked to no one in particular. Sherlock turned the first phone on, it was locked. He then picked up the other phone and his whole heat sank so fast Sherlock felt dizzy. The other phone was John’s. Sherlock looked over at Mycroft, trying to control his panicked expression. “This phone is John’s,” Sherlock whispered as he held up the phone. Sherlock put his hand up to his mouth like he always did when heavily stressed, as he wildly looked around the room, then his eye focused on a medical science poster. “Oh, my God, that’s the pattern,” Sherlock said as he pointed to the poster.

Chapter 4

Sherlock studied the images over and over on his laptop. “Damnit,” he shouted and began to pace muttering to himself. Mary watched him without comment as she cleaned her gun. Sherlock racked his brain trying to figure out the connection between the outfits that were stolen from the Little Infant of Prague. The red from Christmas, the Gold from Easter, and the everyday Green Vestments were the ones that were missing. “There must be some connection,” Sherlock whispered aloud. Ever since their contact with the Rosicrucian’s had been killed, Sherlock had been on edge. Then yesterday he received a text from John’s phone stating he was fine and that he could not make contact until after his initiation. Sherlock felt John was in terrible danger, however, the quickest way to help John was to figure what connection the missing Vestments had with Alchemy and Transmutation.

Mary looked up at Sherlock. “Sherlock, we have contacted Mycroft, and he has told us to wait for further instructions.”

Sherlock rounded on Mary. “Mycroft could care less about John. If we wait for him, it could be too late.”  Sherlock’s voice broke, betraying his anxiety.

Mary sighed. “Sherlock, do you think you are the only person who cares for John? If we don’t follow Mycroft’s instructions, John could be in more danger than he already is. For that matter, we don’t even know he is in danger.”

Sherlock could feel anger and frustration beginning to boil inside him. He wanted to scream and pound holes into the wall. Worry about the welfare of someone else was a new sensation for Sherlock. Maybe Mycroft was right about caring not being an advantage, after all he never felt this way until he started to care about John. “Care, hell, I’m in love with my Doctor.” Sherlock mused. “No, caring is an advantage, Mycroft was wrong.” Sherlock reflected as he began to scan his mind palace for the special place he reserved for his memories of John.  Sherlock’s chest began to feel tight, for in his mind palace John was there. Angry John, passionate John, brave John, John Hamish Watson, you are my love and I will find you with or without Mary and Mycroft’s help. I will take on Hades itself to redeem you.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, SHERLOCK.” Mary raised her voice in effort to catch Sherlock’s attention.

Sherlock spun around. “What?” he snapped.   

Mary sighed, “I just got a text from Mycroft, he’s downstairs.” Mary scrolled down further. “He says that we need to pack. He wants to put us in a safe house.”

Sherlock whipped his head around to glare at Mary. “If Mycroft is taking us to a safe house, then John is in danger.”

Sherlock and Mary packed quickly packed their things and ran downstairs to meet Mycroft. As, Mycroft came forward to meet them, he looked stressed. “Come on I’ll update you in the car.”  Sherlock studied his brother’s face and he knew that something had gone terribly wrong. Once they were in the car Mycroft took out a cigarette and lit up, he then reached in his pocket and handed one to Sherlock. He also held out a cigarette towards Mary. “Mary, would you like a cigarette?”

Mary shook her head. Both she and Sherlock waited for Mycroft to speak. Mycroft took a long drag on his cigarette. “As you know the contact that you were supposed to meet was shot. We found the other contact Sherwin, nailed to the front door of the Church of Our Lady Victorious, he had been tortured and his heart had been burned out.” Mycroft took another long drag on cigarette. “We can’t extract John that would only draw attention to the objective of the mission.”

Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed Mycroft’s wrist. “Fuck the mission; we need to get John out now.”

Mycroft jerked his wrist free from Sherlock’s grasp. “There is a lot more at stake, than your precious John, little brother. The safest action you can take for John is to get to the bottom of the mystery, which you won’t be able to do if you let passion rule your head. Sherlock, get your head in the game. Solve the puzzle.” Mycroft leaned back against the seat, he looked exhausted. No one said a word until they were in the safe house. The safe house was actually similar to Baker Street, except that downstairs was occupied by a security team, no Speedy’s Café and no Mrs. Hudson. The safe house living quarters were located upstairs and Sherlock felt homesick as the wooden steps creaked under his weight. “Just like Baker Street,” he thought. The living space was upstairs, it was sparsely decorated with two chairs and a table in the living room, the kitchen was a small nook off of the main room. Even though the room seemed empty it still reflected a hint of its formal elegance, through the floor length windows, and the ornate carved border around the ceiling. Without a word, Sherlock sat down and opened up his laptop. He studied the pictures of the vestments of the Little Infant, there had to be some sort of pattern besides the obvious one. “There has to be a pattern to these vestments, it is more than just a simple theft for the value, it must have something to do with the order. What, what is it?” Sherlock said as he began to pace the room. Sherlock’s pacing reminded Mycroft of a caged lion he and Sherlock had seen at the zoo when they were children. Sherlock had stood outside the cage watching the lion, tears streaming down his childish plump cheeks.

Their mother had asked Sherlock what was wrong and Mycroft never forgot Sherlock’s answer. “The Lion is alone and bored, he can’t think.”

Sherlock sat down and pounded the keys of his laptop. “What is it? Where is the pattern?”

Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock, I’m going to need you thinking straight, so that you can examine Sherwin’s body. Mary, I am going to need you to interview the handler that had the last contact with Sherwin.”

A Secret Morgue somewhere in Prague

Sherlock circled the table that Sherwin’s body lay on. He examined the cuts that covered the body; however, it was the empty chest cavity that drew Sherlock’s attention. There were strange looking burns around the chest cavity that Sherlock had never seen before. He bent closer, ignoring the smell of chemicals that assailed his nostrils. If was if the cut had been made by a laser, yet Sherlock had never seen a laser that made such perfect incisions. Sherlock bent down and smelled the area around Sherwin’s mouth. “Just as I thought,” Sherlock mused aloud. “The cuts on the body were made post mortem, due to the fact that they bled so heavily. However, it was not the cuts that killed Sherwin; he was drugged when the chest cavity was operated on. However, he was still alive when the heart was taken, due to the fact the aorta are fully open, which suggests that the blood was still flowing through them when the heart was removed. The man was drugged and then bled to death after the heart was cut away. However, I am not sure what kind of scalpel was used to do the surgery.” Sherlock’s mind was going a thousand miles per hour and for a moment he forgot the worry that was threatening to overtake him. What could have made that incision? Sherlock looked over at Mycroft. “Where are the items that were found on the body?” Mycroft came back a few minutes with a clear bag. Sherlock rifled through the contents of the bag. A wallet, nail clippers, pocket change, a money clip, and two iPhones. “Why two?” Sherlock asked to no one in particular. Sherlock turned the first phone on, it was locked. He then picked up the other phone and his whole heat sank so fast Sherlock felt dizzy. The other phone was John’s. Sherlock looked over at Mycroft, trying to control his panicked expression. “This phone is John’s,” Sherlock whispered as he held up the phone. Sherlock put his hand up to his mouth like he always did when heavily stressed, as he wildly looked around the room, then his eye focused on a medical science poster. “Oh, my God, that’s the pattern,” Sherlock said as he pointed to the poster.

  

 


	6. I may be on the side of demons but I am not one of them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other brothers came and gathered around John and congratulated him. John looked back over his shoulder to where the hooded figure stood. As if reading his mind the figure came forward and stood in front of John. He was so close that John could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Well, at least he’s human,” John thought in relief. John could barely hear the hooded figure’s next words. “Brother John, pull back my hood,” he commanded.  
> John hesitantly reached up and pulled the hood back. All the blood drained from John’s face, as he sank to the ground. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the smiling face of Moriarty. “John, did you miss me?”

The next day as John sat eating his breakfast he wondered why he hadn’t seen Sherwin, or anyone else for that matter. The crunching sound he was making while eating his cereal was the only sound in the room. John chewed then stopped, then chewed some more and stopped again. “Okay, time to stop playing making the cereal sound echo game. Where the hell was everyone?” John thought. Then another more terrifying thought crept into his mind. “What if they had all forgotten him down here? What if they had left him to starve?” John smiled and then laughed at himself. “I am creeping myself out just like I used to do with my sister when we were left alone in the house.” John let his memory drift back to his tumultuous childhood. He and his sister had not had very many good times together. John sighed. As bad as his childhood was, he shuddered when he thought of how poor Sherlock had suffered. Just the thought of Sherlock made John’s heart beat faster. “I miss you, Sherlock.” John whispered aloud to the empty room.

Around lunch time, John heard the big heavy metal fire door creak open. He wasted no time and ran to see who it was. The young man that stood in front of John was not Sherwin. His eyes flitted around the room and he nervously kept pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and back. He finally held out a cold, clammy had for John to shake. “Hi, my name is Doctor Freed, however just call me Scott.”

John shook hands and then introduced himself. “I’m Doctor Watson, or John.” He smiled in an attempt to make the younger man more at ease. “So, what happened to Sherwin?” John asked.

Scott visibly paled, making his skin even more translucent than it already was. “Um he was called away on an emergency; I am going to get you ready for tonight.”

John nodded as Scott led him through the heavy metal door into the darkened hallway. “Follow me, John. Keep close it’s pretty easy to get lost down here. We are going to go to the library. I am sure you will enjoy it, for there are some ancient medical texts that you no doubt find fascinating.” Scott seemed to relax a little as John made small talk. John tried to make note of the patterns they were making through the dimly lit hallways, but soon gave up the maze was too complicated for him to remember. John smiled as he thought that Sherlock would already have accurately counted each hallway and have committed them to memory by now.

The library was located behind another metal fire door. Scott put his thumb on an electronic device located near the handle and the door magically opened.

“Open Sesame, “John laughed. Scott just stared back at John as if he were speaking a foreign language. John shrugged and then followed Scott into the library. The light was so bright that John had to blink several times until his eyes made the adjustment. Though the room appeared to be illuminated from fluorescent bulbs, John had never seen a fluorescent bulb that had such a blue-green hue to them. John stood transfixed in an almost hypnotic trance as he gazed into the light.

Scott cleared his throat. “Um Doctor Watson…John?”

John jumped. “Oh, sorry it’s just that those lights are so..humm I don’t know…well spellbinding.”

Scott nodded. “They are that color so that the books are protected. I’m not sure of the science behind it, however, they are beautiful. So are you ready for a little studying?”

John nodded eagerly. “I’m ready.”

Scott took a deep breath. “The first thing that will happen is that I will lead you blind folded through a series of patterns. I will take your arm of the left side, then afterwards you will kneel in from of a stone alter. You will take your vows and then head Knight will take a sword and gently tap the left shoulder and then the right.”

John laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This sounds like something from Camelot or Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.”

Scott looked at John disapprovingly. “John, if you’re not going to take this seriously then maybe…”

John interrupted. “No, I am sorry; it’s just well been pretty intense.”

 Scott’s blue eyes bored into John’s. “I understand. If you are having second thoughts now is the time to tell me. Once you have taken the oath you will be committed.”

John nodded. “I understand and I am not having second thoughts. It just kind of sounds like till death do us part.”

Scott nodded back. “That’s exactly what it means, John. Once you are committed, you are committed in this life and the next.”

John clapped his hands together. “Then let’s get to it.”

There was very little memory work; there were just instructions that John would need to follow to the letter. After a few hours Scott took John back to his little cell for a rest before the ceremony.

A few hours later John looked at himself in the mirror, he felt ridiculous in the black robe. It was a beautiful piece of work, all silk and so black it glowed with a blue tint, however he still felt silly in it and per instructions John had nothing on under the robe except underwear. A soft tap on his door prevented John from indulging in further speculation. The door opened and Scott stood there with a glittering torch in his hand. He was also in a black robe. John thought that the fire lit torch was a touch dramatic, however he didn’t voice his opinion as he and Scott wound their way through the maze.

Outside the initiation chamber Scott gently put a blindfold over John’s eyes as he was led into the chamber. A voice from the darkness spoke, “Brother Scott, why do you seek entrance to the chamber?”

Scott answered. “I come here with John Watson, who seeks to be a brother.”

The anonymous voice then asked. “John Watson, are you here of your own free will and do you seek entrance to the order.”

John’s voice sounded far away in his own ears. “What you say is true.”

“Then welcome John Watson. Your guide will take you through the dangers of the maze. Follow him to safety and the brotherhood.” The voice echoed in John’s mind. There was something so familiar about it.

John wasn’t given any time to speculate for Scott had already taken John’s arm and was gently guiding him in an intricate pattern. There wasn’t a sound as John took his cues from Scott. “This is a trust exercise nightmare,” John thought as he let himself be led. Finally, they stopped and Scott took off John’s blindfold. John slipped off his robe and kneeled before the stone alter. A man stood on the other side of the altar with a hood pulled over his head. When he spoke John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“John Watson, you have undertaken the task of a Rosicrucian brother. By swearing your allegiance, you agree to serve the order in this life and the next. You also swear by pain of death that you will never reveal the secrets of alchemy that you will be given. By agreeing to this you will forever be one of us. Do you so agree?”

John swallowed. “I do so agree.”

The robed figure then took a sword and gently tapped each of John’s shoulders. “Welcome, Brother John.” Then he stepped down from the altar and picked up John’s discarded robe and wrapped it around John.

The other brothers came and gathered around John and congratulated him. John looked back over his shoulder to where the hooded figure stood. As if reading his mind the figure came forward and stood in front of John. He was so close that John could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Well, at least he’s human,” John thought in relief. John could barely hear the hooded figure’s next words. “Brother John, pull back my hood,” he commanded.

John hesitantly reached up and pulled the hood back. All the blood drained from John’s face, as he sank to the ground. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the smiling face of Moriarty. “John, did you miss me?”

John tried to sit bolt upright and realized he was chained to the floor. For a moment he couldn’t remember how he got there and then he remembered the evil face of Moriarty laughing at him. John jerked at the chain, it was a useless gesture, but John pulled with all of his might on the chain. He gasped with pain as he fell over on the other side of the sleeping pallet. “Oh God,” John screamed aloud to the empty cell. John had made things worse for himself. He had shortened the length of the chain so that the links cut into his skin. John knew he had to control his breathing or he was going to hyperventilate. He tried to hold perfectly still because every time John moved the metal chains sliced more skin off. For the next couple of hours John drifted in and out of consciousness. He barely noticed when his prison door opened.

“Get in here and get him out of these chains and bring me a first aid kit. Do it quickly or I will make you watch while I disembowel you.” Moriarty screamed. A few moments John felt the metal clamps release his ankles. Moriarty came over and effortlessly picked up John and put him on the sleeping pallet. John tried not to whimper when Moriarty washed his wounds and then bandaged them. Moriarty then lay down next to John on the pallet. He reached out and stroked the side of John’s face.

“My poor John, I will punish them for hurting you.” Moriarty spoke softly.

John could feel his heart pounding. “Was this going to be like his dream? Was Moriarty going to rape him?”

Moriarty smiled. “John, my pet I can read you like a book.” Moriarty then rolled himself on top of John holding him tight. Moriarty then bent his head down beside John’s and took a deep breath. He nuzzled John’s unshaven face and whispered into his ear. “John, I would never take you unwillingly. When I take you, you will be mine. Together we will rule the world. You will see in time that I am no different from your precious Sherlock, we are the same.”

“I will never submit to you. I will die first.” John spat.

The expression on Moriarty’s face surprised John. It was full of grief and sadness. “John, I may be on the side of the demons, but I am not one of them. I will find a more comfortable place for you to reflect on your situation, until then rest.” Moriarty then gently kissed John’s ear.

 

 


	7. Small Reflection of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shook his head. How could someone switch gears so quickly and then John thought of Sherlock. Sherlock could. Thinking of Sherlock gave John a burst of courage. “How long are you going to keep me here before you kill me?” John asked softly.  
> Moriarty looked horrified. “Jesus, John, I have no attention of killing you. I want you to share in my discoveries. John, I love you, I would do anything for you.”  
> John crossed the room in a couple of strides and stood in front of Moriarty. “Then let me go, please.”

John wrapped the thin blanket around him. Cold, it was so cold, and so silent and dark. John found himself wishing for Moriarty to come back, at least it would be someone to talk to. Finally John curled up under the blanket and tried to get some sleep. When he next woke up Moriarty was bending over him.

“John, can you hear me? You must be running a fever, you are so warm. I’ve got to get you out of here.” Without another word Moriarty picked up John and slung him gently over his shoulder.

When John finally regained consciousness, he was so confused. “Where am I?” John thought as he sat up. He was in a bedroom, and a very nice one judging from the brocade curtains that surrounded the bed. John pulled the covers up and noticed that he was wearing silk pajamas. “Well, at least I’m not naked,” John mused.   Cautiously, John pulled back the bed curtains and peeked out. The room was beautiful, old books filled floor to ceiling shelves, the room was dimly lit but no so that one couldn’t read if one wanted to. Persian carpets covered the floor, a desk stood in one corner, and it stood opposite a beautiful Louis the 16th blue couch. In the corner Moriarty sat at a piano playing the second movement from Mozart’s Piano Concerto #23; his face had a peaceful look on it that John had never seen before. For a moment John let the magic of the music wash over him. How could someone so evil reproduce the music of Mozart with such purity, such honesty?

Moriarty stopped playing and smiled at John. He was wearing a blue T-Shirt and black jeans, his raven black hair was ruffled, making him look much younger than John had first imagined. “John, how are you feeling?” Moriarty got up from the piano and switched on some music that blared from the entertainment system, the song was Mama, from The Black Parade, by My Chemical Romance. Moriarty marched and sang, “Mama we all go to hell.” The volume of the music was so loud that John covered his ears. For a moment it appeared that Moriarty didn’t even know that John was in the room. The next song to play was Losing You, by Dead by April. Moriarty screamed out the lyrics with such force that he soon lost his voice.  Seeing John’s discomfort Moriarty walked over and turned down the volume of the sound system. The next song was Capricious Horses sung by Vysotsky. Moriarty sang the Russian words softly and then he went over to a 19th century oak paneled bar and poured himself a drink. “John, would you like a drink?”

John shook his head. How could someone switch gears so quickly and then John thought of Sherlock. Sherlock could. Thinking of Sherlock gave John a burst of courage. “How long are you going to keep me here before you kill me?” John asked softly.

Moriarty looked horrified. “Jesus, John, I have no attention of killing you. I want you to share in my discoveries. John, I love you, I would do anything for you.”

John crossed the room in a couple of strides and stood in front of Moriarty. “Then let me go, please.”

Moriarty clasped his hands behind his back to keep John from seeing how hard they shook. “I can’t let you go, John, at least not yet. Come over here I want to show you something on the computer.”

John’s face was so pale and wan, that Moriarty began to worry. “Never mind, John, you don’t look well.” Moriarty reached up and touched John’s forehead. “I think you are still running a fever, go back to bed. Don’t worry I’ll take the couch. You know I wasn’t always this way,” Moriarty whispered shyly.

John swallowed and then looked down at the ground; the sadness in Moriarty’s eyes confused him. Moriarty was his enemy and John must never forget that. A wave of nausea overcame John and he sank to the floor and began to vomit. Moriarty rushed to his side and grabbed a blanket off of the bed. Gently Moriarty steadied John’s head as he dry heaved into the blanket. John stood up and let Moriarty lead him back to bed. “John, you see, even though the darkness has taken my soul, I still reflect a flicker of light now and then.” Moriarty said as he helped John get into bed and under the covers. Moriarty smiled knowingly as he picked up a damp cloth on the nightstand so he could bathe John’s forehead. “You see, John, individuals like Sherlock and I can’t lose the ones we love. If we do it burns that heart out of us, it makes us evil and dark. However, John you are light, you are not just on the side of the angels, you are an angel. Grief tears you down, but it does not rot your soul. You would never give in to the darkness. Now get some rest and I will give you answers when you are well. John, I feel so tired sometimes, that I wish that I had blown my brains out on the top of St. Bart’s. I know your heart belongs to Sherlock and that I will never be able to possess an angel like yourself. You know John; I loved a girl named Anna when I was a child. She was stuck down by a car trying to save me. When she died in my arms my whole world went black. Once you have crossed the line of darkness like I have, there is no redemption.”

John looked up into Moriarty’s dark eyes. “I don’t believe that. I believe that everyone can be redeemed.”

Moriarty laughed and sat down on the bed next to John. “John, you are such a child,” Moriarty whispered as he bent down and kissed John’s jaw. “I want to make you mine. I want to consume you and I want that consumption to take a hold of you like a raging fire.” Moriarty leaned forward and slid his hand across John’s chest as he buried his face in John’s neck. “John, you undo me. You know it will be you that destroys me, not Sherlock.”

John tried to squirm away from Moriarty in an effort to keep his body from responding to the physical stimuli. “God, Moriarty sure knew which buttons to push”, John thought.

Moriarty sighed and angrily pushed himself off of the bed. “Goodnight, John.” A few moments later Moriarty came back with some juice and two aspirin. “John, take these, don’t worry they’re just aspirin.”

John held out his hand and obediently took the aspirin. “Thank you, Moriarty,” he mumbled.

Moriarty paused and then turned around to look back at John. “Please call me, Jim.” Without another word Moriarty quietly left the room.

Sherlock pointed to the Human DNA chart on the wall. “Don’t you see that’s the pattern?”

Mycroft and Mary glanced at each other in confusion. Mycroft was the first to speak. “Explain, Sherlock.”

“The DNA pattern can’t you see? My God how can you both be so stupid?” Sherlock hissed. “That’s the same pattern as the Gold Weaving in the little infant of Prague’s vestments. Take the gold from vestments and put them together and it is the Alpha sign. Do a 3D projection of those same patterns and it is the Human DNA helix. You can see it now can’t you?”

“Sherlock, we can both see it now, however what does it mean?” Mary snapped.

Sherlock paced around the room and fingered his jaw and then his head shot up so quickly that Mary was surprised that he didn’t get whiplash from the quick, jerky movement.

“Mycroft, Mary, we are looking at the ancient formula for transmutation of the human body. Every religion has a transmutation theory. The Rosicrucian’s belief was not just a metaphysical one; it was a scientific theory as well. It is a way to astral project the body in more than one place at the same time.” Sherlock whispered.

“So, how does it work, little brother?” Mycroft drawled.

For the first time Sherlock looked lost. “I don’t know. I am going to have to study it. There’s one thing for certain, we need to get John out of there as soon as possible. If this transmutation formula is for real, it could explain how Moriarty appeared to blow his brains out on top of St. Bart’s Hospital, and then reappear only to mock us on every English Television. It could explain many things.” Sherlock mused.

Back at the safe house, Sherlock glanced at the computer in front of him. Every time he thought he was going to crack the transmutation code, another problem would blow his theory apart. “Damn it,” Sherlock swore, making Mycroft and Mary jump. Sherlock began to pace and swear. He finally stopped in front of Mycroft. “We have to get John; I can’t solve this without him.” Sherlock whispered in defeat.

Mary rolled her eyes and was surprised at Mycroft’s answer. “Perhaps, you’re right little brother, we’ll send in a team tomorrow.”

Sherlock reached out and grabbed Mycroft’s arm. “No, I want him rescued tonight.”

Mycroft looked to Mary for support. “Sherlock, I’m not letting you in on the rescue attempt. You are emotionally compromised.”

Sherlock knew that Mycroft was correct; as he slammed his laptop shut and stormed out of the room.

 

 


	8. Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John went into the bathroom turned the cold water on in the sink and let it run over his warm neck. Moriarty stood in the doorway smiling as he watched John. The bathroom didn’t have any doors, so Moriarty was able to watch John at his leisure. So, far Moriarty had given John his privacy in the bathroom, today was the only exception. Finally John turned off the water and straightened up and shouted. “Isn’t bad enough that you keep me a prisoner? Am I not to have any alone time in the bathroom either?” The water from John’s wet hair ran down his neck and onto his shirt. Moriarty stopped smiling and swallowed as the water soaked through the front of John’s shirt making it transparent.

John stared at the computer screen in fascination as Moriarty pointed out certain points on a 3D projection of a Human DNA chain. As Moriarty spoke John felt less lonely and in the back of his mind John knew he was starting to identify with his captor. In the military he had been trained to deal with Stockholm syndrome; however nothing could prepare an individual for the situation John was in. As the days passed John felt that perhaps Moriarty was not as bad as everyone had first thought. As if in answer to his mental meanderings Moriarty began to rub the tension out of John’s neck muscles. It felt so good that John almost laid his head down on the table and began to drool.  When John didn’t pull away Moriarty put his arms around John as he rubbed his hands over John’s thin T-Shirt. When John felt his nipples start to harden he jumped up out of the chair and angrily stormed across the room in frustration. The longing for another’s touch was becoming a need that John couldn’t ignore much longer.

John went into the bathroom turned the cold water on in the sink and let it run over his warm neck. Moriarty stood in the doorway smiling as he watched John. The bathroom didn’t have any doors, so Moriarty was able to watch John at his leisure. So, far Moriarty had given John his privacy in the bathroom, today was the only exception. Finally John turned off the water and straightened up and shouted. “Isn’t bad enough that you keep me a prisoner? Am I not to have any alone time in the bathroom either?” The water from John’s wet hair ran down his neck and onto his shirt. Moriarty stopped smiling and swallowed as the water soaked through the front of John’s shirt making it transparent.

Moriarty eye’s glazed over in lust as he let them linger on John’s chest.  “God, John,” he gasped as he took a step forward. John backed up slowly to keep his personal space free.  However, John was no match for Moriarty. Grabbing him by the waist Moriarty backed John into the wall and began to forcibly kiss him. John could feel the hardening tightness in the front of Moriarty’s jeans as he rubbed up against him. Moriarty bit John’s lower lip playfully and then broke away panting, “Get out, John now. Leave me.”

John slid out of Moriarty’s grasp and began to pace in the small kitchenette. He had been so close to giving into Moriarty’s advances that John pounded the counter of the kitchen sink in frustration. “God, Sherlock where are you? Please help me. I am starting to lose my grip on reality,” John thought as he licked the blood from his lower lip where Moriarty had bit him. Moriarty’s living space was one enormous room with a small bathroom and kitchenette. There was only one bed that Moriarty had let John have, as he slept on the couch. John made his way to the bed and sat down at the edge. Tears fell from his eyes as he buried his head in his hands. “How am I going to survive this?” John thought in despair.

A few minutes later Moriarty strode into the room with the dreaded handcuffs. Every time he left his quarters he handcuffed John to a metal pole in the center of the room. “I need to go out,” Moriarty said softly as John let himself be led to the pole. John had tried to escape several times only to be shocked senseless with some sort of electrical stun device that Moriarty always had on him. Meekly John made his way to the pole he just wasn’t up to being mildly electrocuted today. Moriarty kept his head averted from John’s gaze as John held out his hands to be cuffed. John was surprised that instead of the cold hard metal cuffs, Moriarty handcuffed him with black fur covered ones. Moriarty kept his head down as he spoke softly. “John, I noticed the metal cuffs were starting to cut into your wrists, so I got these.”

John nodded in appreciation. “Thank you,” he answered. John was surprised that when Moriarty lifted up his head, his face was red, blotchy and tear stained. “Moriarty is human. He seems to care for me. Maybe I misjudged him,” John thought in confusion as Moriarty turned to leave.

Once he was alone, John sat with his back against the pole and tried to think of something else.  He moved his neck around in a semi-circle in an attempt to break up the tension. John then let his mind drift to he and Moriarty’s scientific discussion that had taken place earlier that day.

Earlier in the Day

John studied the elements on the computer screen in front of him and thought that Sherlock would have appreciated its merits more than he. It’s too bad that Moriarty was a maniacal psychopath, for he and Sherlock thought so much alike.  

“John, are you paying attention?” Moriarty snapped.

John sighed. “Yes, yes Gold is a Transition metal on the periodic table of elements and is one of the purest metals there is. The transmutation of lead into gold can be achieved by a particle accelerator using electrical and or magnetic fields for the transmutation process.”

Moriarty clapped his hands together. “Very good, yes John.”

“Whatever, you are still not explaining how this transmutation applies to the human body.” John snapped. He didn’t like being patronized.

Moriarty giggled and leaned over John to grab the wireless mouse that sat to the right of the computer keyboard. Wiggling the mouse back and forth Moriarty moved on to the next screen as soon as he saw the cursor. He typed in several commands as the DNA string from one part of the screen doubled itself into another part of the screen. “You see, John, our entire universe came into being through transmutation, and I have discovered a way to create a spark from one individual’s DNA, which in turn allows that individual’s DNA to transmutation to another dimension or plane without disrupting the original location of the individual’s body.  Do you see now how I appeared to Sherlock on the roof top of St. Bart’s?” Moriarty eye’s appeared black as he excitedly rubbed his hands together.

John frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Moriarty knelt down on the ground, took a hold of the office chair John was sitting in and wheeled John around to face him. “John, it’s alright. Let’s take a break.” Moriarty said as he suggestively eyed John’s crotch.

“Jesus, you have a one track mind, don’t you?” John growled.

Moriarty shrugged his shoulders. “John, what are you taking about? Did I say something wrong?” Moriarty asked innocently as he widened his eyes.

John opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and waved Moriarty off as he stormed into to the little kitchen. Moriarty’s laughter followed him and John wanted to shut him up permanently.

John yawned and brought his thoughts back to the present. “God, I’m tired,” John thought as he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later John jerked awake when he felt Moriarty releasing him from the handcuffs. “God, I have to pee,” John thought as he rubbed circulation back into his wrists.

“Sorry, I didn’t think I would be gone so long,” Moriarty mumbled.

John looked over a Moriarty and noticed a long cut on the side of his neck, his face was bruised and his once perfectly ironed shirt was torn in several places. “Hey, what happened?” John asked as his medical instincts took over. Someone had worked Moriarty over pretty good. “Here, let me take a look at that cut,” John said as he stepped closer to Moriarty.

“John, leave it alone. I’ll heal. I have certain needs too you know.” Moriarty said as he sulked over to the sink in the kitchen to wash up.

John’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I see, well I’ll leave you to it then.” John said as he awkwardly walked over to the desk. “God, this is weird,” John thought as he wondered why Moriarty didn’t have more individual rooms in his living quarters. It made it difficult to storm into another room when there wasn’t another room to storm into.

With his head down Moriarty made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. “Oh, Jesus that hurts, “Moriarty gasped as he took off his damaged shirt.

 “This better not be a trick,” John thought as he ran towards the bathroom.

Moriarty sat on the floor rocking back and forth as he clutched his stomach. John sucked in his breath when he saw the bloody marks on Moriarty’s back. Moriarty submitted passively to John’s examination of his neck, back, and chest. “I’m going to need to stitch some of these wounds up.” John said grimly as he attempted to staunch the blood from a particularly deep cut on Moriarty’s back. Moriarty lay still as John put pressure on the deepest wound

Moriarty pointed to a cabinet. “There’s a first aid kit in there,” he whispered.

John washed out the wounds and stitched up two of the worst injuries. Moriarty remained silent until John was finished with his first aid treatments.  John then helped Moriarty up. “You can take a full shower later. Just wash up now. Do you need help getting undressed?” To his surprise Moriarty shook his head no as his liquid brown eyes bored into John’s. John nodded. “Alright then, I’ll take the couch tonight.” As Moriarty softly thanked John, John thought that he would much rather have the evil Moriarty back. For seeing Moriarty vulnerable made John feel as if he had fallen down a rabbit hole into an alternate universe where he didn’t know the rules.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9 Tears of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s hand shook as he jerked the phone away from Mycroft’s hand. The photo was of a murder scene, five men lay dead on a blood spattered floor. They were all dressed in black robes that lay open at the chest. Sherlock swallowed as he observed that each man’s heart had been cut out. However, it was not the mutilated bodies that drew Sherlock’s attention. Frantically Sherlock pressed the zoom feature to make sure that what he saw was accurate. A beautiful blue velvet pillow lay at the entrance to the room. Its clean beautiful appearance was in stark contrast to the carnage that lay around it. Sherlock felt as if he were going to faint, when he saw what was in the center of the cushion. It was John’s watch with a note attached to it. The words appeared to have been written in blood. Sherlock’s face paled as he whispered the words of the note aloud, “I.O.U.”

Sherlock slammed Mycroft against the wall shouting, “Are you saying that MI 6 doesn’t know where John is? Answer me, Mycroft, “Sherlock yelled as he slammed Mycroft against the wall again.

Mycroft pulled himself out of Sherlock’s grasp. “You are not thinking clearly, Sherlock. Perhaps, it’s time for a cigarette.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Mycroft. There was something that Mycroft was holding back, something bad. Sherlock took a deep breath, “Mycroft, what aren’t you telling me?”

Mycroft looked away from Sherlock’s intense gaze and then pulled out his iPhone. Mycroft moved his finger over the front of the iPhone and then stopped. “Sherlock, I am going to show you a photo of a crime scene. I know how you love violence; however prepare yourself for these images are particularly gruesome.”

Sherlock’s hand shook as he jerked the phone away from Mycroft’s hand. The photo was of a murder scene, five men lay dead on a blood spattered floor. They were all dressed in black robes that lay open at the chest. Sherlock swallowed as he observed that each man’s heart had been cut out. However, it was not the mutilated bodies that drew Sherlock’s attention. Frantically Sherlock pressed the zoom feature to make sure that what he saw was accurate. A beautiful blue velvet pillow lay at the entrance to the room. Its clean beautiful appearance was in stark contrast to the carnage that lay around it. Sherlock felt as if he were going to faint, when he saw what was in the center of the cushion. It was John’s watch with a note attached to it.  The words appeared to have been written in blood. Sherlock’s face paled as he whispered the words of the note aloud, “I.O.U.”

John watched Moriarty as he played a Chopin Nocturne on the piano that stood in the middle of the living room. Taking a sip of tea from the cup he held in his hand, John felt that he had been living this strange life with Moriarty for eternity. Moriarty smiled as he met John’s gaze. Slowly, he licked his upper lip. John swallowed as he brought the tea cup up to his mouth.

“Damn,” John swore when the tea scalded his tongue.  As his grip loosened on the tea cup, it fell to the tiled floor and shattered into a million pieces.

Moriarty stopped playing and walked over to where John knelt cleaning up the fragments of the cup. John didn’t look up as Moriarty took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to put the pieces of the broken teacup into it. Time seemed to slow down and John froze when Moriarty gently encircled his fingers around his wrist. His heart pounded in his chest and John could hear the blood beating in his ears. God, he was lonely. Moriarty put the handkerchief with the shattered teacup pieces on the ground.

Moriarty then crawled over to where John still kneeled. Like a rabbit caught in the hypotonic gaze of a snake, John didn’t move as Moriarty glided toward him.  Just before Moriarty reached him John crawled backwards and slipped in a puddle of tea. Smiling Moriarty straddled over John’s prone body. “John, “he whispered as he positioned a leg on either side of John’s body. John could feel the heat radiating from Moriarty’s body. “I’ve got to resist,” John thought as Moriarty began to unbutton his shirt. However, all thoughts of resistance fled from John’s mind as Moriarty unzipped his jeans and began to massage between John’s legs.

John gasped and thrust his hips towards Moriarty. “John, be patient,” Moriarty whispered as he slipped John’s jeans off. As John lay naked from the waist down Moriarty kept up his massage until John began to whimper. Without another word Moriarty picked up John and slung him over his shoulder and carried him to bed.  John dug his heels into the mattress as the pressure built up inside him. Moriarty slowly took off his clothes as John watched. Once he was naked Moriarty fit his body into between John’s legs until John could feel the hardness between Moriarty’s legs pushing against the inside of his thigh. “He’s going to torture me,” John thought as Moriarty moved his hand away from his crotch. Closing his eyes John waited for something terrible to happen, so that when Moriarty’s mouth took up where his hand had left off John groaned with pleasure and guilt. “Sherlock, “John mouthed as tears ran down his cheeks. Sherlock would never forgive him for this. Soon all rational thought left John’s mind as Moriarty brought him to a climax.

Moriarty lifted his head from in between John’s legs and began to suck on his neck. Easing his knees apart Moriarty prepared John’s body for his own entrance. John took a deep breath as Moriarty’s fingers loosened his tightness and then gasped as Moriarty slowly thrust his appendage inside him. The sequence made John writhe in pleasure, first the tip, then the middle, and finally Moriarty was all the way in. His downward in and out motions were a lot gentler than John expected, and his love starved body responded by forcing itself up so that Moriarty could penetrate him deeper. After Moriarty climaxed he curled up in John’s arms and wept. Unsure of what to do John just patted Moriarty’s neck.  After a moment Moriarty raised his tear stained face to look up at John. “John, I have never made love like that before. My first sexual experience was forced upon me and after that I mainly indulged in sexual practices of bondage, dominance and humiliation. We must never do this again.”   

Totally unprepared for this side of Moriarty John let Moriarty weep himself to sleep. Once Moriarty was breathing heavily, John eased himself out from underneath and took a shower. As the warm water washed over him John felt he would never be clean again. Sherlock would not want him back ever. Morbid abusive thoughts flowed through John’s mind like humid drops of rain, so that by the end of the shower he was so overwhelmed with despair that he began to contemplate suicide. With a grim realization John realized that everything he and Sherlock had worked towards was gone in a moment of lust and what was he to make of this tender, vulnerable side of Moriarty. In any other circumstance John would have thought that Moriarty had faked the tears. However, John had seen enough men die in battle. As they breathed their last they often cried for their mothers or sweethearts, either way the tears were unlike anything John had seen.  Deep tears of agony had a different sound and feel, their groaning’s were like a giant tree making its last movements as it fell to the ground never to sway in the wind again. John had never put much stock in the Bible; however when the Bible spoke of Jesus weeping great tears of blood in the Garden of Gethsemane he thought that whoever had written the Gospels was more than familiar with tears of death.  “Tears of Death,” John thought as he remembered the quiver in Sherlock’s voice before he jumped from the roof of St. Bart’s. “Tears of Death,” John thought as the face of every dying soldier came back to haunt him. “Stop this,” John shouted aloud as he leaned against shower wall. Glancing over at the soap container, John noticed the metal razor. Like Sleeping Beauty just before she pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, John’s eyes grew large as he slowly reached for the razor. “The small blade inside will bring me relief,” John thought as he struggled to get at the inside of the razor.

Sherlock lay in bed wide awake. “Where was John? However, will we find him? Mycroft and MI-6 were certain that if John were still alive that he had not left Prague.” The thought was not a comforting one, due to the fact that if Moriarty had John he was probably slowly torturing him to death. Sherlock had never believed in a higher power; however just in case Sherlock prayed. “If there is a male or female deity, please spare my lover, my friend, my life, John.” The words hovered in the room as Sherlock sighed and rolled over. Sleep was obviously something that was not going to happen, so Sherlock got up and tapped on the adjourning door to he and Mary’s room. “Mary, are you asleep? It’s me Sherlock.”

After a few moments Mary jerked open the door. “What is it Sherlock?” She snapped.

Sherlock looked down and traced a pattern on the rug. “Um I can’t sleep. I thought maybe we could go over where we might possibly find John.”

Mary sighed and held the door open. “Fine, come in, but Sherlock we may have to face the fact that he is well…dead.”

Sherlock felt as if the air had been sucked out of him in an instant, leaving his chest tight and unyielding to the breaths that struggled to get free and then Sherlock felt a faint, familiar presence. “John is in terrible danger, but I know he is still alive.” Sherlock said as he swallowed down the lump forming in his throat.  

 


	10. Chapter 10 Blood Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride over to the lab was quiet as Mary, Sherlock, and Mycroft remained immersed in their own thoughts. Prague was a beautiful city at night; however its majestic beauty was lost on the three companions. Once they were in the lab Sherlock examined the towels and blankets with an intense ferocity. He weighed them sniffed them and then balanced them in each hand. “John lost about 5 liters of blood. To survive he would have needed a blood transfusion.” Sherlock said as he looked up at Mary and Mycroft. He paced for a few moments and then went over to the computer. “I need to know Jim Moriarty’s blood type,” Sherlock muttered aloud. “Mycroft, log in so that I check,” Sherlock commanded.  
> Mycroft walked over punched in a password and moved aside for Sherlock to access to the keyboard. After a few moments Sherlock looked victorious, “Jim Moriarty has the same blood type as John.”  
> Mycroft and Mary exchanged an alarmed glance, for it appeared that Sherlock was desperately grabbing at straws.

John held the small razor blade in his hand as the warm water from the shower rushed over him. His hand shook slightly as John positioned the blade over the artery that would do the most damage if cut.  If the slash was clean he would bleed out in a few minutes. John held the blade sideways over the main artery in his wrist and pushed slightly down. “Jesus, that hurts, “John thought as the blade broke his skin. Blood oozed out of his wrist, pooled around his legs and then like a horror movie it swirled down the drain of the shower. John took a deep breath and prepared for the final cut. “I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John whispered aloud. Before he could make the fatal slash, Moriarty took John’s hand that held the blade and slammed it against the wall until John dropped the blade.  There was blood everywhere, as the warm water made it flow heavily over the bathroom floor.

“Jesus,” Moriarty cursed as he attempted to stop the blood flow with a bath towel. John lay on the floor unresisting, his eyes glazed with a slight smile on his face.

Moriarty grabbed his iPhone off the floor where he had dropped it. “It’s me Jim, I need you to get over here right away, and don’t be late or I will skin you alive.”

Moriarty picked up John, took him to the bed and wrapped him in blankets. As Moriarty piled on more blankets he could feel John’s body temperature dropping. “Shit, he’s going into shock,” Moriarty thought. “John, John stay with me….please,” Moriarty whispered. He had not said the word please in so long that it sounded like a foreign dialect. Moriarty curled up next to John until he felt his iPhone vibrating. He checked his text message and jumped off the bed. A few moments later Moriarty returned with a woman that made Irene Adler look like a Sunday school teacher. Her hair was dyed jet black and her lips, eyebrows, and nose were pierced through with metal wires. She ran over to where John was and stripped off the blankets one by one. “Jim, what the hell happened? I am only a nurse and this looks beyond my…..”

Moriarty reached out and grasped her wrist. “I will kill you slowly if you don’t save him, so you’d best get to work.”

The dominatrix nurse walked over to John and then looked back at Moriarty. “He’s going to need a blood transfusion and you’d better pray to God that his blood type is the same type as you or I, or forget it, he’s dust.” The Nurse reached into a black leather bag with a skeleton on it and pulled out a small blood testing kit. She then walked over to John and put some of his blood on the slide. It seemed like hours before she announced, “His blood type is A+. Well, that rules me out.”

Moriarty walked over and stared down at John’s body. God he was so white. “That’s my blood type,” Moriarty said as he looked back at the nurse. As the nurse prepared Moriarty and John for the blood transfusion, Moriarty felt a small thrill of pleasure at the thought of his blood giving life to John. When the Nurse stuck the needle in his arm, Moriarty gasped with pleasure.

The Nurse rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Moriarty you and your boyfriend better tone down the games.” The Nurse said as she looked down at Moriarty. She sighed and slapped his leg, “What am I going to do with you? You are so deliciously wicked.”

Moriarty grinned back and sighed again when his movement made the needle shift in his arm.

“Hey, “the nurse said, “If you keep that up I will have to charge you an extra fee for my dominatrix services.”

Moriarty closed his eyes as he struggled for control. He had never wanted someone as badly as he wanted John. His need for John was almost as great as his need to kill Sherlock. A groan from John made Moriarty sit up. “Is he going to be okay?” Moriarty asked desperately.

The Nurse turned and openly gapped at Moriarty. “Oh, my God, you really care for this guy. Could it be that Satan’s spawn has fallen in love? Poor, Poor Moriarty, welcome to hell with the rest of us.” She said it seductively with a hint of sadness.

After the Nurse left Moriarty tended to John and wondered what was next for them. He couldn’t keep John here forever, or could he? Was there a way to make John love him through some sort of Alchemy formula? It was time to study and find out.

John opened his eyes and looked around. He wasn’t in Moriarty’s room any more he appeared to be in a room that resembled a hospital room. Hope made John’s heart beat faster, was he home? “Sherlock? “ John asked in a crackling voice.

“No, it’s me,” Moriarty whispered as he came to stand at John’s bedside. “Are you feeling better? I had to give you a blood transfusion, so now we are united.” John looked so horrified that Moriarty sank to the floor and put his head down on his knees. John recognized the defensive posture and thought that Moriarty most likely had developed the mechanism in childhood.  For a moment neither of them said anything, and then John spoke. “Moriarty, what are you going to do with me? If I just knew what you had in mind, maybe I could bear it.”

Moriarty looked up at John with wide brown eyes. His hair was ruffled and his t-shirt and jeans had dried blood on them. He looked so young and vulnerable that John cleared his throat to distract him from the disturbing image.

Moriarty jumped up and began to pace. “I thought you could stay in this room for your privacy. The former Doctor, who occupied it, will not need the space any longer.”

As John studied Moriarty’s face he had no doubt that the Doctor was most likely dead and that Moriarty had probably killed him. “What is my purpose here?” John asked.

Moriarty’s voice became high pitched with excitement. “Well, I will make this room a little bit more personal for you, so you will be comfortable. You will stay here and assist me in my experiments. I know that after a while you will come to care for me as I do you. After all, we already know we have physical connection. However, no need to worry I won’t touch you again, well unless you want me to,” Moriarty said shyly.

John studied Moriarty’s flushed cheeks with disbelief. “Moriarty, killer, soul burner, evil master mind criminal,” was blushing like a school girl.

Sherlock went back to his room. The talk with Mary didn’t help him sort out anything at all. He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes as he mentally pulled up a map of the city of Prague. Where could John be? A knock at the door distracted Sherlock from further speculation and he could tell from the sound of the knock that it was Mycroft.  Sherlock answered the door and let Mycroft in. “What do you want?” Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft pulled up a map of the city on his iPhone and motioned for Sherlock to stand next to him. “We put a tail on some of Moriarty’s contacts in the city and found that a nurse that Moriarty often employs to complete various tasks for him went to an underground tunnel last night. Here,” Mycroft said as he zoomed in on a specific place on the map.  “We picked her up last night. We still have her in custody and so far she is not talking.”

Sherlock sighed in boredom. “Get to the point, Mycroft.” Sherlock growled.

Mycroft took a deep breath and continued on. “Sherlock, we found a bundle of bloody, towels and blankets in her car. We did a DNA test on them and it’s a match for John.”

Sherlock grabbed Mycroft by the arm and pulled him towards the door. “I want to see them now.” Sherlock commanded.

The ride over to the lab was quiet as Mary, Sherlock, and Mycroft remained immersed in their own thoughts. Prague was a beautiful city at night; however its majestic beauty was lost on the three companions. Once they were in the lab Sherlock examined the towels and blankets with an intense ferocity. He weighed them sniffed them and then balanced them in each hand. “John lost about 5 liters of blood. To survive he would have needed a blood transfusion.”  Sherlock said as he looked up at Mary and Mycroft. He paced for a few moments and then went over to the computer. “I need to know Jim Moriarty’s blood type,” Sherlock muttered aloud. “Mycroft, log in so that I check,” Sherlock commanded.

Mycroft walked over punched in a password and moved aside for Sherlock to access to the keyboard. After a few moments Sherlock looked victorious, “Jim Moriarty has the same blood type as John.”

Mycroft and Mary exchanged an alarmed glance, for it appeared that Sherlock was desperately grabbing at straws.

 

 


	11. Moriarty's Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John couldn’t help the tears that slid down his cheeks as he put the journal down. “My God, no wonder Moriarty was the way he was,” John thought sadly. John didn’t even notice when the locks slid open until Moriarty stood at the edge of the bed.  
> “John, I killed the last person that read my journal without my permission,” Moriarty said softly as he took the journal from John’s outstretched hand. He then smiled sadly into John’s eyes, “I really suppose it doesn’t matter now for that journal was written a lifetime ago.” To make his point Moriarty took the journal from John and threw it across the room. “John,” Moriarty said as he opened a drawer next to the bed and drew out a syringe. “I’m going to give you a mild sedative. The next time you wake, you will be in Israel with me.” The last thing John remembered before he lost consciousness was Moriarty’s sad, child-like eyes staring down at him.

John awoke to the sound of violin playing and for a moment he thought it was Sherlock, and then as he listened further he realized it wasn’t.  Sherlock’s playing was beautiful, but whoever was playing this was a virtuoso capable of performing professionally. John opened his eyes and realized that it was Moriarty playing Bach’s Chaconne. He attacked each chord with such purity and ferocity that John momentarily forgot around the burning of his wounded wrists. Closing his eyes John let the magic of the music pour over him. When Moriarty stopped playing John spoke weakly, “Moriarty, please play that piece again.” His voice was hushed for fear that he would break the spell. As if reading his mind Moriarty didn’t say a word he just played the piece for John again. He ended up playing the piece several times until John fell back to sleep.

When John awoke again he was back in Moriarty’s bed. Moriarty was hastily packing up several duffle bags, throwing out things he didn’t want in an enraged frenzy. When Moriarty noticed John watching him he stopped packing.

“John, I’m sorry if I disturbed you, but we need to be on a plane to Jerusalem in a few hours,” Moriarty said as he wiped his brow with his sleeve.

John coughed. “Jerusalem, you mean the one in Israel?” John asked. For a moment Moriarty gave him a look that reminded John so much like an expression of Sherlock’s that John just sighed and leaned back on the pillows.

“Yes, there is a manuscript that I must see and the owner won’t take it out of the country, so off to Israel we go. Don’t worry I will give you a sedative for the journey,” Moriarty said as he resumed packing.

John leaned back and pretended to be asleep as Moriarty quietly put items into several duffle bags once more; however this time his movements were methodical and rational. John squinted. He paid particular attention when Moriarty held up an old battered note book and gently laid it on a nearby table. “The book must be important,” John thought as he made a mental note to see what it contained when Moriarty next left the area.

A few minutes later and John got his chance when Moriarty was in the little kitchenette. Quickly John tipped toed across the room, grabbed the note book and stuffed it under his pillow. It seemed that fate was finally with John for a few moments later Moriarty left the compound. John’s stomach churned with sorrow when he heard all the locks sliding into place. Putting his feelings of entrapment aside John took out the note book and began to read:

1st Entry

 

My name is Jim Moriarty the school counselor says that as part of my therapy I should write in a journal. The reason the school therapist is up in my face, is because I set Carl Power’s jacket on fire. He thinks he is so great. He makes me sick. Carl Powers and I are both 11 years old; we are in advanced placement classes together. Carl is one of the most popular kids in school; he is the best athlete in our district. Every day he makes my life a living hell.  Yesterday, in chemistry he humiliated me in front of the entire class. Nobody wanted to be my lab partner, so the teacher had to work with me. I accidently spilled water on my crotch and Karl powers said that I had wet my pants. All the kids laughed at me all day. It was a tough afternoon, then at lunch Carl threw an apple at me and it hit me so hard that it left a red mark on the side of my face, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, I started to cry in front of the whole lunch crowd. It was after lunch that I saw Carl’s jacket and I set it on fire with some matches that I found behind the gym. I wish he would have been in it. As much as school sucks, home is even worse.  My dad drinks all the time. He is a mean drunk. When he found out about the jacket, he beat me within an inch of my life. My mom just sits in the corner, smokes nonstop and reads romance novels. When my dad isn’t beating me, he is beating her.  As much as I hate my dad, I hate my mom even more because she is such a coward and just sits there and takes it.  Why she doesn’t stick a butcher knife in his back I’ll never know.  I sometimes fantasize about stabbing him myself. God, it would feel so good to see the look of surprise on his face as I stuck a knife up to the hilt in his bloated belly.

2nd Entry

Christmas is just around the corner, and I am feeling better. I actually have a friend at school. Her name is Ann, and she is so beautiful and sweet.  She is tall has brown hair, blue eyes and she always smells like strawberries. We met at lunch. She was the new kid and didn’t know that she wasn’t supposed to sit next to me. Ann is one of those kids that make a person feel at ease. When she started talking to me I wouldn’t answer, then she laughed and asked me my name. I remember telling her that my name was Jim and that’s it. I talked nonstop as if making up for all the years of silence. Today was the day before winter break and she gave me a Christmas present. Can you believe it?  It was just a small box of chocolates, but it meant the world to me. I have not gotten a Christmas present since my grandma died. She invited me to her house for Christmas Dinner, and I can hardly wait. Christmas may just be great this year.

3rd Entry

On Christmas day I stole the neighbor kid’s bike to ride to Ann’s house. How can I describe Ann’s house? It was everything that my house could never be. My house is dark and dreary like the house in “The House of the Seven Gables”, and Ann’s house was full of light and laughter. I always thought those kinds of houses were just a fantasy on a Christmas T.V. show. Every square inch of Ann’s house was decorated with Angels. I had never seen so many beautiful things in one place. Food at my house is always pretty scarce and I usually just have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner. Ann’s Christmas dinner consisted of Ham, potatoes, green beans, hot biscuits and some kind of wonderful sweet relish. Dessert was some kind of fruit pie.  If I would have known how things would turn out the way they have I would have never made friends with Ann.  I went home in a daze. I felt as if nothing could douse my joy. For the first time I knew what the Christmas spirit was. I didn’t realize that I had left my jacket at Ann’s until after I got home.  I put my key in the lock and was relieved when I say my dad passed out on the couch.  My mom was nowhere to be seen, so she must have gone to bed.  About a half hour later, there was a knock at the door. No one came to our house, unless it was a complaining neighbor, or someone wanting money. I peered through the peep hole in the door and saw Ann on the porch. Oh, God, I couldn’t let her in. I waited and didn’t answer the door, hoping that she would leave. The third time she knocked I heard my dad stir on the couch. I had to get her out of there before my dad woke up. I opened the door quietly and squeezed out onto the porch. Ann’s shinning smile was in such contrast to the monovalent atmosphere of our house that I almost cried. I thanked her for bringing me my coat and told her I couldn’t let her in because my dad was sick. Ann waved goodbye and that was it, she was gone and my chest actually hurt when she rode off on her bike. I jumped when I turned around and saw my dad standing behind me. He asked who Ann was and I told him she was just a school friend. My dad smiled and his eyes were hard and mean. It was too late to escape. He pulled me by the ear into the house and beat me worse than I had ever been beaten before. I went to my room and cried myself dry. It was then that I planned to kill him.

4th Entry

I was still pretty sore a week later from the beating I got from my dad on Christmas. However, school was due to start in two days, so I was happy. One day when I came downstairs a man I had never seen before was talking softly with my dad. He gestured towards me and asked the man what he thought. I didn’t like the look on the man’s face, it was a look I had never seen before and it made me shiver. My dad grabbed me by the arm. Jim you need to go with this man, it’s time to earn your keep.  Take him up to your room and do what he says. I tried to run, but the man was too fast.  The man took me up to my room and locked the door. He grabbed me and gagged me. I just can’t write about what he did to me. I tried to think of Ann or anything else that was good, however, that was the day that darkness began to take me. My dad unlocked the door a few times and laughed at what was being done to me. The next time my Dad opened the door he told the man the half hour was up. The man begged for another half hour but my dad just laughed. Just give me my money and get out.

5th Entry

When Ann tried to talk to me at school, I avoided her worried gaze and told her I wouldn’t be able to go to lunch with her anymore. So, at lunch I snuck back into the chemistry lab to experiment with concocting poisons.  Botulinum was my poison of choice, but I had to get the formula just right.

6th Entry

Several weeks have gone by and Ann has started hanging out with Carl Powers. Every time   she approaches me I tell her that things are tough at home.  I figure that pretty soon I would have the formula figured out, but I would need to test it out on a human. A few months later, I got my idea.  The school was going to London for a swimming field trip. That’s the day I will test out my poison. I will kill Carl Powers. Carl had eczema, so I would sneak the poison in his tube of medicine. 

7th Entry

The worst thing happened today. Oh God I don’t know if I can write about it or not. I will try. Ann came by the house this afternoon. She got there just as one of the men had been in my room. I was sitting at the bottom of the steps with my head in my hands. She took one look at the glance the man gave me and well she just knew. Oh God, Jim, I’m going to get help she screamed and ran. The man began to chase her and before I knew it a car struck her down. I ran to her and as the ambulance was coming she died in my arms. Today it was if an angel of darkness took my soul.  The feelings of hurt and loneliness that once overwhelmed me are gone and I feel invincible.

8th Entry

Today was the field trip to the pool. It was so easy to slip the poison into Carl’s medicine. The teacher tried so hard to revive him that I really had to exercise all the self-control I could muster not to laugh as they took his body away. I am truly the master criminal.

9th Entry

Several months later, I put my concoction in my dad’s gin bottle. I don’t even think my mom noticed he was gone.  I know I’m not going to miss him a bit. So, let this be a lesson to all my future enemies I will burn the heart out of anyone who gets in my way. My heart is already burned out. I ceased to have a soul the day Ann died.

John couldn’t help the tears that slid down his cheeks as he put the journal down. “My God, no wonder Moriarty was the way he was,” John thought sadly. John didn’t even notice when the locks slid open until Moriarty stood at the edge of the bed.

“John, I killed the last person that read my journal without my permission,” Moriarty said softly as he took the journal from John’s outstretched hand. He then smiled sadly into John’s eyes, “I really suppose it doesn’t matter now for that journal was written a lifetime ago.” To make his point Moriarty took the journal from John and threw it across the room. “John,” Moriarty said as he opened a drawer next to the bed and drew out a syringe. “I’m going to give you a mild sedative. The next time you wake, you will be in Israel with me.” The last thing John remembered before he lost consciousness was Moriarty’s sad, child-like eyes staring down at him.

“Sunshine, warmth, safety”, John thought as he opened his eyes. He was outside lying on a pallet in the semi-shade of an olive tree. Everything came back to him in a rush as John slowly sat up to take in his surroundings. He was in a garden of olive trees, across the garden Moriarty sat engrossed in reading something on his laptop. Moriarty was wearing a white linen shirt and pants, the sleeves of the shirt billowed slightly in the wind. John watched the movement of the sleeves in fascination. Sensing his gaze Moriarty looked up from his laptop and smiled at John. “Feeling better?” He asked softly.

John was about to say something, but instead he rolled over and promptly threw up in the grass. Moriarty was by his side in a second. “John, I am so sorry, you seem to have had a reaction to the sedative, but don’t worry it will pass.”

John groaned, threw up one more time and then passed out.

John tossed and turned as another nightmare tormented him. John tried in vain to protect Sherlock and Moriarty as an unseen assailant attacked them both. John cried out as their dead child-like bodies lay at his feet. “No, God, no,” John cried aloud sobbing. Someone’s arms encircled him as a voice comforted him.

“SSh, John,” I’m here Moriarty whispered as he rocked John back and forth. After John cried himself out Moriarty led him into the main room of the apartment and led him to a couch. A few moments later Moriarty came back with a bowl of pineapple yogurt and banana slices. “Here, John, you need to eat,” Moriarty said as he sat the food in front of John.  

John looked around him, it was beautiful room filled with ancient Middle Eastern pottery, urns, and other artifacts.  A floor length oil painting of Jerusalem dominated the room and flower filled vases were scattered around at intervals here and there.

“Wow,” John said. “This place is fantastic. Whose is it?”

Moriarty smiled smugly, “It’s mine. I have a flat in every major city around the world, John.” Moriarty said as he gestured around the room.

John nodded and went and stood before the painting. It was so life like that John marveled at the ability of the artist to make a picture seem like a photograph instead of an oil painting. “This is lovely,” John said as he momentarily forgot his situation.

Moriarty came and stood so close to John that he could feel the heat radiating from his body. John took a few steps back. “Is there anything that you and Sherlock can’t do?” John snapped.

Moriarty smiled as his eyes moved from John’s head to his feet. Licking his lips slowly Moriarty said, “Apparently, not.”

John flushed and looked away. Moriarty just laughed and once more stood close to John. “Go eat, John. I have something to show you on my computer.” Moriarty turned to leave and then at the last moment walked over and encircled John’s waist. It took every effort Moriarty possessed not to put his hand down John’s pants. His hands shook as Moriarty let John go. As his fingers moved from around John’s waist, Moriarty let them lightly graze the front of John’s crotch. He then sucked in a deep breath and angrily told John to hurry up and eat.

 


	12. In Another's Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock felt uncomfortable and confused. Mary had been with John, now she was with Mycroft, John had been with Mary and now he was with Sherlock. The sex drive apparently was much stronger than he anticipated. “Holidays were going to be more awkward than usual with this set up. All they needed was for Moriarty to get together with someone in the household and it would be a truly Kinky Christmas.” Sherlock thought in amusement. Then another thought penetrated his mind like a grain of sand in an oyster shell, John had been missing a little over a month now. He must be scared and lonely. Could he be lonely enough to turn to Moriarty? No, Moriarty was inhuman and that would repulse John. Then Sherlock thought of Moriarty’s sad journal that was something that John would respond to. John was a knight, a hero-a rescuer. Sherlock watched Mary and Mycroft with a feeling of dread. Loneliness could drive an individual into another individual’s arms just as easily as it could separate an individual away from the arms of another.

Sherlock burst into Moriarty’s apartment in Prague. He turned around in a frantic circle with his hand to his mouth. John and Moriarty were gone. A few seconds later, Mycroft burst into the room followed by Mary.

“Damn it, Sherlock, wait for backup before you go into a situation like this,” Mycroft shouted half annoyed and half fearful for his little brother’s safety. In order to cover the emotions that flitted across his face, Mycroft lashed out. “Never mind, brother mine, you have unfortunately let your heart rule your head in all matters regarding John Watson.”

Sherlock wanted to scream, he felt so frustrated. He settled for pacing the floor instead. Sherlock paced a few moments and then he noticed the old spiral notebook in the corner. Hastily, Sherlock picked up the notebook, for he knew there was something important about its dog eared pages. The note book turned out to be Moriarty’s journal from childhood. As Sherlock read each entry was more heart breaking than the first, so that by the time he was finished reading it Sherlock was sick at his stomach from revulsion and something that he would never admit to anyone, perhaps not even to John, Sherlock felt-pity. He felt pity for the damaged child that grew up to be the heartless man-Moriarty. Sherlock looked around as Interpol officers poured over the scene, making sure no one was watching, Sherlock stuck Moriarty’s journal in his inside pocket. He failed to notice Mary watching him from behind him, as he patted his jacket where the journal was safely stored for future perusal.

Back at the safe house Mary and Mycroft listened as Sherlock played one heartbreaking Bach Partita after another. Finally, Mycroft could stand no more. “For God’s sake Sherlock, quit playing those melancholy funeral like dirges.” Mycroft shouted tensely as he always did when he couldn’t reach Sherlock. Was Sherlock’s world-his mind palace, a place of safety or torment? Ignoring Mycroft’s request Sherlock played louder until Mycroft got up and left the room with Mary on his heels.

Mary looked troubled. “I never realized that Sherlock was such a passionate player. I somehow thought his playing would be well, cold and mechanical.” Mary mused aloud.   

Mycroft nodded. “Sherlock’s spirit is a restless one. I only hope that it will not be his undoing,” Mycroft said softly.

Mary looked over a Mycroft and was surprised that he actually cared about Sherlock, perhaps even loved him.

Mycroft was clearly uncomfortable and was relieved when Mary suggested they have a tall Gin and Tonic.  Mary made the drinks and few moments later Mycroft was coughing furiously. “Good God, Mary, did you put in any tonic water at all?” Mycroft said as he coughed again.

Mary shrugged. “I thought we could benefit more from the effects of the gin more than the quinine in the tonic water. After all I don’t have night leg cramps, do you?” Mary asked as her blue eyes bored into Mycroft’s.

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. Something about talking about potential physical issues with Mary, made Mycroft feel nervous.” Mary downed her drink in a couple of swallows, promptly sat down in a chair and began to cry.

Mycroft panicked. Good Lord, he could handle anything but tears. Mary sobbed for a few moments and then Mycroft crossed the room to where Mary sat and awkwardly patted her on the back. “There, there,” Mycroft said quietly.  Mary turned her tear stained face up to Mycroft and took his hand. Mycroft gasped for he was totally unprepared for the effect of another person’s touch, especially that of a woman as beautiful as Mary.  His reaction was not lost on Mary, for she stood up and kissed Mycroft hard. “Mycroft, take me to bed,” Mary whispered huskily.

Mycroft backed up as if he had been stung, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Mycroft asked in panic.

Mary ignored him and kissed Mycroft harder this time. As his lips parted slightly Mary slipped her tongue inside Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft hesitantly slipped his tongue in Mary’s mouth and then after a few moments pulled away.

Mary put her arms around Mycroft’s waist. “Please, don’t turn away. Oh God, you’re not gay, are you?”

Mycroft shook his head no and cleared his throat. “Mary, I just feel that I would be taking advantage of you.”

Mary laughed bitterly as she took Mycroft’s hand and rubbed it against her bare breast. “Mycroft, we all take advantage of each other every second of every day. We might as well get some pleasure from it,” Mary whispered as she began to unbutton Mycroft’s shirt. Mycroft let Mary take off his shirt, but tensed up when she began to unbuckle his pants. Mary looked up, “What’s wrong? Oh Jesus, you’re not a virgin are you?”

“No, it’s just been a long time since…,” Mycroft’s voice trailed off as Mary slipped his pants down. Mary looked at Mycroft as he stood before her in his underwear, he looked terrified. Mycroft knew that if he were to remove his underwear, he would lose his balance and fall. Mary gently led him to a chair and then she slowly peeled off his underwear and socks. She then sat on Mycroft’s lap facing him as she began to kiss his neck. Mary put her hand between Mycroft’s legs for a little foreplay. Mycroft gasped and slid out of the chair to the floor. As Mary helped him up Mycroft’s hands began to shake. He tentatively unbuttoned her blouse and began to massage her breast. When her nipples hardened under his touch Mycroft desperately pulled Mary to the bed. She couldn’t get clothes off fast enough, as he frantically began to take her blouse and bra off. Mycroft stared at her breasts in fascination. “God, she was beautiful,” Mycroft thought as Mary guided his hand into her underwear. He let his fingers explore where she had led them and then they both desperately divested her of the rest of the clothing. Mycroft groaned as she explored his body with her tongue. He felt so light headed that Mary had to lead the proceedings for a few moments, and then as if by magic Mycroft was inside her, thrusting, pulsing, moving together as one force. Sherlock’s violin playing drifted through the room as if from a tunnel. Mycroft had never thought Bach was sexy, but that night he understood why Bach had fathered so many children, God the passion of that music matched his penetration of Mary’s soft, warm, moist woman hood, so that Mycroft thought he had surely died and gone to heaven or maybe hell, he thought as Mary thrust her hips upward into him. Afterwards Mary lay in his arms, as she rubbed his chest. “Mycroft, why do you waste yourself?” Mary asked as she played with his nipples.

Mycroft chuckled. “Whatever do you mean, Mary?”

Mary rolled over on top of him. “You know what I mean. I never see you with anyone. Jesus, you are so talented in the sack, “Mary breathed as she sucked on Mycroft’s neck.

“Umm I think you are the inspiration of our physical union, Mary, that and my damn little brother’s violin playing. Jesus, I always thought Bach to be a fat stogy old man, but his music is perfectly synchronized.  Like…I can’t think of the word.” Mycroft said in slight confusion.

“Like, this,” Mary said as she dove under the covers and began to work her way orally to the middle of Mycroft’s legs.

Once her tongue reached its intended target Mycroft had to stick a corner of the sheet in his mouth to keep from screaming out. When he finally got his breath back Mycroft breathlessly panted, “Jesus, Mary I swear you are the devil himself…,” His voice trailed off in grunt as Mary worked her way up to his neck. Then, Mycroft sighed in absolute relief when she positioned herself on top of him so that he could penetrate her deeply.

The next morning Sherlock watched Mycroft and Mary through shrewdly squinted eyes. Something was different. Mycroft looked happy. Mary looked happy. They both looked happy as they looked at each other across the table. “Oh, good, God, you two had sex last night,” Sherlock blurted out.

Mary’s face turned red and Mycroft sighed in exasperation. “Sherlock, you have the unerring habit of stating the obvious.  Mary and I are both single adults and that’s what single adults do.”

Sherlock didn’t reply as he looked at Mycroft. By God, Mycroft looked at least ten years younger as he sat drinking his tea. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, his shirt was buttoned crooked, and his hair was ruffled in messy tuffs around his face. Sherlock felt uncomfortable and confused. Mary had been with John, now she was with Mycroft, John had been with Mary and now he was with Sherlock. The sex drive apparently was much stronger than he anticipated. “Holidays were going to be more awkward than usual with this set up. All they needed was for Moriarty to get together with someone in the household and it would be a truly Kinky Christmas.” Sherlock thought in amusement. Then another thought penetrated his mind like a grain of sand in an oyster shell, John had been missing a little over a month now. He must be scared and lonely. Could he be lonely enough to turn to Moriarty? No, Moriarty was inhuman and that would repulse John. Then Sherlock thought of Moriarty’s sad journal that was something that John would respond to. John was a knight, a hero-a rescuer. Sherlock watched Mary and Mycroft with a feeling of dread. Loneliness could drive an individual into another individual’s arms just as easily as it could separate an individual away from the arms of another. 


	13. Possession of John's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Mycroft, Mary and Sherlock sat on a private jet heading for Israel, Sherlock felt cold and uneasy. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and flipped up the collar of his coat, but his actions did nothing to assuage his fears. As the jet roared closer to John, Sherlock grew colder, for instead of feeling closer to John; Sherlock felt John’s presence retreating to a place Sherlock would not be able to reach-Moriarty’s heart-his soul.

John stared down at the tracking device that encircled around his ankle in distaste.  “Well, at least it was better than the handcuffs,” John thought as he paced around the apartment. Moriarty had gone out to examine the document that he had drug them both to Jerusalem for, leaving John alone in the residence. John knew that with the tracking device there was no way he was going to escape; however there was nothing to prevent him from snooping around for information. John walked quietly over to where Moriarty’s laptop sat on his desk. He knew it would be password protected, but it was worth a try to guess. After a few tries, John leaned back and sighed. As for what happened next, John wasn’t sure if it was because he was in Jerusalem or what, but he said a quick prayer and entered IOUSHERLOCK, damn it didn’t work, then John entered ANN4/11/76, nothing, then John thought back to the entries in young Moriarty’s journal and one date stood out, the entry about Christmas was a particularly poignant, so on a whim John entered 861225Angels, as the computer miraculously came to life.    John thanked whatever deities existed and began to look through Moriarty’s files. He opened the folder entitled SH, one file in particular caught John’s attention, the file was labeled Extermination Holmes Permanent Solution. John double clicked on the file and as he began to read John felt the blood drain from his face. Sherlock would never survive this, no human could.

John jumped when he felt Moriarty’s grip on his shoulder,” John, what are you doing?” Moriarty whispered in a low menacing voice.

John whipped around to face Moriarty. “You are planning to release chemical warfare on Sherlock to destroy him.”

Moriarty clapped his hands together and leaned back. “Yes, isn’t it glorious? Sherlock will die slowly, thinking he has cancer or some other disease, and when he lies in a hospital bed writhing in pain I will breeze in and laugh as he draws his last breath.” Moriarty sighed in pleasure and then turned to John. “So, John are you hungry?” Moriarty asked casually, ignoring their previous conversation.

John continued to stare at Moriarty in horror and then an idea came to mind, it was repulsive and yet John had to try it.  John got up and faced Moriarty and then with lightning fast reflexes John grabbed Moriarty by the throat. As he slammed Moriarty against the wall, Moriarty shivered with delight at John’s rough treatment of his body. Then Moriarty reached out like a snake capturing its prey and grasped John’s wounded wrist. Moriarty dug his fingers into John’s wound until John finally collapsed in a heap on the floor. “It’s time for plan B,” John thought as he struggled to catch his breath. Moriarty had John pinned down and after a few seconds he let John break free. As John crawled over to where Moriarty lay he spoke softly, “Moriarty…Jim, I have a proposition for you,” John said as he inched closer to Moriarty. “If you promise to let Sherlock live in peace, I will be yours, I will stay with you, no need for this, “John said as he pointed to the tracking device on his ankle. Slowly John put his hand on Moriarty’s abdomen, “So, what do you say?” John asked huskily.

Moriarty moved John’s hand downwards, “How do you know you can trust me?” Moriarty gasped as John moved his fingers lower.

John unbuttoned the top button of Moriarty’s pants and moved his other hand  to the same warm downward target. “How do you know you can trust me?” John asked as he flipped Moriarty over on his stomach. “Stand up and bend over the couch,” John commanded.

Moriarty did as he was told and let his pants drop down around his ankles.  As John struggled to get his own pants down, Moriarty turned around to assist. Wasting no time Moriarty grabbed at the front of John’s pants like a greedy child ripping open at package at Christmas time. Moriarty then assumed his position over the couch. “I’m not going to waste any time with foreplay,” John thought as he adjusted Moriarty’s position. “You want me, then fine off to the races,” John thought as he angrily plunged into Moriarty. Things didn’t last long and John prepared himself for the same type of treatment, so that when Moriarty gently picked him up and carried him to the bed, John felt confused. Moriarty not only took his time with John, he left no base uncovered, so that in spite of himself John cried out twice for Sherlock. “Sherlock,” John cried out again as Moriarty lifted his head up from where he had orally fixated on John.

“Oh, John, you are so fucking sweet, “Moriarty said as he carefully pushed John’s legs open further. Unlike John, Moriarty’s thrusts were slow methodical and meant to please.   

“Irene Adler, eat your heart out,” John thought as he cried out for a fourth time. Afterwards, Moriarty lay next to John, sucking on his neck. “If you’re trying for another round, I’m spent,” John said as he leaned back.

Moriarty laughed. “John, my sweet John, you never know what you can do unless you try,” Moriarty whispered as he stuck his tongue in John’s ear and slowly moved it around.

John’s mind had shut down, but his body once more betrayed him as he lustily bit down on Moriarty’s ear lobe until he drew blood. Moriarty rolled over on his stomach.

John straddled him and in spite of himself laughed. “Moriarty, is this you want?” John teased as he pushed his hard groin into Moriarty’s thigh.

“Yes, please John,” Moriarty whimpered.  

John had to admit that he got off when Moriarty begged. He felt the pressure build up in his groin as he let Moriarty plead a few more times, and then he acquiesced to Moriarty’s request and to his dismay, John enjoyed the climax that he and Moriarty shared later. When John cried out this time, it was for Jim.

A few slap and tickles and a shower later, John walked up behind Moriarty as he pointed to the image on his laptop of a document that he had scanned for further inspection. “Look at this, John” Moriarty said as he excitedly pointed to a pattern on the image of the ancient document before them.

John sighed. “Jesus, it was just like being with Sherlock. He had no idea what pattern Moriarty was referring to,” John thought in annoyance.

Moriarty reached out and grabbed John’s hand, carefully avoiding his wounded wrist. This extra step of kindness disturbed John. After all, Moriarty was evil, wasn’t he?

“John, are you paying attention?” Moriarty scolded.

John nodded and then he saw the pattern that Moriarty traced on the screen for him. “My God, that’s a human DNA helix,” John gasped.

Moriarty smiled in approval. “Very good, John,” he praised.

The words reminded John of something that Sherlock would say and he felt a pain in the pit of his stomach as he thought of his beloved Sherlock. “Sherlock, my love you are safe,” John thought contentedly.

Moriarty scowled. “John, I can tell you’re thinking about him-Sherlock. Don’t worry I won’t touch him, after all I have you so I have his heart, right?”  Moriarty chuckled as he moved his fingers lightly over John’s arm.

John jerked his arm away from Moriarty and went in the bathroom and threw up, over and over, until he thought that the next thing to come up would be his insides-his heart. Moriarty stood in the bathroom doorway watching John vomit. After a few dry heaves, John curled up on the floor, and put his warm face against the cool tiles. Moriarty gently stepped over him and laid a cold washcloth on John’s forehead.  “John, we will talk about the document later. Go rest now, you can have the guest room. Come on John, it’s okay,” Moriarty said as he held out his hand to John. John wanted to slap it away, but instead he took Moriarty’s hand and let himself be led to the guest room. Moriarty tucked John in and then lay down beside him. Moriarty then rubbed his hand against the stubble on John’s face. John’s eyes fluttered as sleep overtook him. Moriarty continued to rub John’s face until John’s breathing became deeper and relaxed. Then he reached over and kissed John on the lips, “God, help us all, I love you John Watson,” Moriarty whispered sadly as he got up to leave.

As Mycroft, Mary and Sherlock sat on a private jet heading for Israel, Sherlock felt cold and uneasy. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and flipped up the collar of his coat, but his actions did nothing to assuage his fears. As the jet roared closer to John, Sherlock grew colder, for instead of feeling closer to John; Sherlock felt John’s presence retreating to a place Sherlock would not be able to reach-Moriarty’s heart-his soul.

 


	14. Pacing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty’s heart beat faster as he pulled out his iPhone and brought up his contact list. As his hand began to shake from excitement Moriarty punched contact SH and then he downloaded the photo of himself and John with the following message: SH: I no longer owe you. I own you for I possess your heart-John.  
> Moriarty laughed manically as he pushed the send button. “I haven’t had a day this fantastic in a long time,” Moriarty thought in satisfaction.

Moriarty stared down at John’s naked body with a mixture of lust and sadness. Carefully, Moriarty laid his naked body next to John’s as he softly kissed John on the cheek and then he maneuvered his legs around John’s waist pulling John closer to him so that when John opened his eyes in confusion, Moriarty snapped a picture of them both on his iPhone. John was still groggy so that when Moriarty held very still John yawned and went back to sleep. Moriarty waited until John’s breathing became heavy once more before he slipped out from underneath John’s prone body.

Moriarty’s heart beat faster as he pulled out his iPhone and brought up his contact list. As his hand began to shake from excitement Moriarty punched contact SH and then he downloaded the photo of himself and John with the following message: SH: I no longer owe you. I own you for I possess your heart-John.

Moriarty laughed manically as he pushed the send button. “I haven’t had a day this fantastic in a long time,” Moriarty thought in satisfaction.  

Sherlock had tried to curb his need for a cigarette, so that when his phone beeped alerting him that he had a message, he pulled up the message with relief. The relief was short lived for after Sherlock opened Moriarty’s message he stood stock still. As his phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground Sherlock leaned his head back struggling for control. Mary was the first to reach Sherlock’s phone. She gasped as she downloaded the photo. Mary studied the photo for a moment and then handed the phone over to Mycroft. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and then commented, “The photo’s obviously photo shopped.” Mycroft hated the sound of his attempt at reassurance for he wasn’t sure if the reassurance was for Sherlock, Mary, or both.

Mary took the phone from Mycroft and zoomed in on a section of the photo and examined it more closely. “This photo is definitely John,” Mary said softly.

Mycroft sighed. “I didn’t say that the person in the photo isn’t John I’m saying that…”

Sherlock didn’t let Mycroft continue speaking as he snatched the phone out of Mycroft’s hand and shouted, “Brother dear, you are an idiot. The picture is real. See the window that is in the photo, well look at its reflection in the mirror above the bed, that same image is reflected in Moriarty’s eyes. There is no way that reflection could have been photo shopped.” Without another word Sherlock threw the phone over in a corner and stormed out of the room.

John sat in the bathtub soaking; however no amount of washing could make him feel clean. As the water turned from hot, to warm, to lukewarm, John reluctantly left the confines of the tub and got dressed and went to the kitchen where Moriarty was waiting for him. Without a word John sat down in a chair as Moriarty prepared him for shaving. John leaned his head back as Moriarty lathered his face with shaving cream.

“You know, John if you hadn’t tried to end yourself I wouldn’t have the dubious task of completing this little housekeeping chore for you.” Moriarty whispered as he slowly ran a razor over John’s stubble. John’s hands were tied behind his back, so he held still and let his mind drift back to happier times. John smiled inwardly as he recalled the first time he had met Sherlock in a lab at St. Bart’s Hospital. John furrowed his brows in concentration as he desperately fought to retain each detail from that day.

“John, are you listening to me? John?” Moriarty asked trying to keep his voice level.

“Yes,” John snapped, angry at the intrusion of his retrospective of he and Sherlock’s first meeting. As he looked over at Moriarty, John smiled smugly at the hurt look on Moriarty’s face.

“I’m sorry, John,” Moriarty said genuinely as he untied John’s hands and led him over to a large sink so that he could wash John’s hair.

Obediently John stuck his head under the warm water as Moriarty gently lathered John’s hair with shampoo. After a few moments Moriarty ran his hands through John’s hair to make sure it was rinsed thoroughly. Moriarty’s motions felt so good that John couldn’t help the chill bumps that made the hair on his arms prickle. It was with relief that John took a towel from Moriarty a  rubbed his own hair dry.

Like an inmate with a prison schedule, John next went and sat down at the kitchen table and quietly ate the yogurt and fruit that Moriarty had laid out for him. Moriarty leaned forward and lightly stroked John’s wrist, “John, I am picking up a vital document for my investigations. How would you like to go with me?”

John tried to hide his excitement at the thought of going out and so he smiled politely before he casually answered. “That sounds fine,” John said as he looked down at the tracking device on his ankle.

Moriarty followed John’s glance and then sighed, “John, you are so easy to read. I don’t trust you enough to let you come out without the device. I’m sorry, John. I really am,” Moriarty said as he paced back and forth through the kitchen. As John watched him pace he felt homesick for Sherlock. For many a time John had watched Sherlock pace in a similar manner.

Sherlock had finished his third cigarette as he paced the perimeter of his room at the safe house in Jerusalem. A soft tap at the door broke Sherlock’s pattern as he stopped in irritation. “What is it?” Sherlock yelled as he threw open the door.

Mary stepped back a step or two with a plate of food in her hand. “I brought you something to eat.” Mary said as she walked in Sherlock’s room and set the tray down on a small table near Sherlock’s bed. “Sherlock, you need to keep up your strength. I’m not exactly sure what that photo of John and Moriarty means, but I do know John. He is honest and loyal.”

Sherlock laughed bitterly as he took another drag on his cigarette, “Yes, he certainly was honest and loyal with you Mary wasn’t he?” Sherlock hissed as he stood in front of Mary. His face was distorted in anger, fear, and grief and as Mary looked down at the ground she reached out and patted Sherlock on the arm and then quietly left the room.

Even though John was technically still a prisoner he enjoyed the cab ride over to their destination. The sun was setting as John and Moriarty got out of the cab and walked towards the meeting place. John wondered where they were and as if Moriarty could read his mind, Moriarty said, “We are at the Garden of Gethsemane-the place where Jesus was supposed to have wept great tears of blood and where Judas betrayed him with a kiss.” Moriarty looked into John’s eyes and continued on,” John, can you imagine being betrayed by one of the people you love most in this world with a kiss?” Moriarty asked as he took John’s hand in his own. He then searched John’s face for a moment and then sighed as he released John’s hand.  John frowned as he looked into the tearful depths of Moriarty’s liquid brown eyes. There was no time for further contemplation though as a party of four men dressed in black approached them. As John noticed the heavy bulges under each man’s jacket, he had no doubt that they were all heavily armed. Moriarty got up from the bench that he and John were sitting on and approached the men. Moriarty took out his phone, punched some data into it and showed it to the head of the party. “This is the amount we agreed upon, correct?” Moriarty asked and then handed the phone over for the man to inspect. The man nodded and handed the phone back to Moriarty. “Now, before I send this wire over to your bank, I want to see the document.” Moriarty said as he took a step back.

John watched the proceedings with disinterest for even though he couldn’t see it he knew the tracking device was beating waiting for him to make a move. The movement would be John’s last for Moriarty had set the device to detonate if John crossed the parameters that Moriarty had programmed into the hateful tracker. As John watched Moriarty’s shoulders tense, something wasn’t right. John had been in enough situations like this one to know when a deal was going sour  and as Moriarty began to argue, John knew for sure that the deal was going sour.

“Hey, that wasn’t the deal,” the man in front yelled as he took a step closer to Moriarty.

“You promised me a complete document, not a few useless pages,” Moriarty shouted back.

In the blink of an eye one of the men pointed a gun at John, “Back up, or I splatter your friend’s brains all over that fucking olive tree behind him and believe me there’ll be no resurrecting him after I blow him away,” the man said as he laughed at his own joke.

Moriarty’s face turned a deathly shade of white and John could help thinking that this garden had seen a lot of violence in the last 2,000 years. “Well, I never thought I bite the dust in the Garden of Gethsemane,” John thought as he passively waited for the bullet to end his physical existence. For a moment John thought that he just might try and save himself and then he thought cynically, “Why bother?”

As the man held the gun out to pull the trigger John faced his would be attacker with tired, wide blue eyes, as if to say, “It’s okay, take me.”

Sometimes something happens that is so shocking that it was never even a consideration of the observer, this was one of those times, for as the man pulled the trigger, Moriarty dived in front of John taking the full impact of the bullet.

 

 


	15. Passions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had just finished bandaging up Moriarty when a chime sounded on Moriarty’s tablet informing him that he had a message. Moriarty ignored it as he looked at John with those brown glittering eyes. “John, the time has come for me to take you on a journey. A journey if transmutation back in time to Jerusalem as it was in the days of the Knights Templar.”  
> John looked at Moriarty as if he had lost his mind. “What the hell are you getting at?” John snapped. “Is this some kind of trick?”  
> Moriarty shook his head. “No, it is not a trick. Are you ready to see how I kept from being dead, or how it appears that I can be in two places at once?” Moriarty whispered.  
> John was fed up with all of Moriarty’s double talk. “Sure, why not? What have I got to lose?” John thought bitterly.

John dropped down to Moriarty’s side as the gunmen ran off in the opposite direction. Moriarty lay on his back, his eyes open wide. John was just about to undo Moriarty’s shirt to assess the damage the bullet did, when Moriarty sat up, ripped open his own shirt to reveal a bullet proof vest. The vest was pierced at heart level and as Moriarty slipped it off a small trickle of blood ran down his sternum.

John examined the wound, tore a piece of the sleeve from Moriarty’s shirt and pressed it firmly to staunch the blood flow. “Moriarty, keep pressure on it like this,” John said as he took Moriarty’s hand in his. As Moriarty’s hand replaced John’s, their fingers briefly touched becoming slick with Moriarty’s blood. John wiped his bloody hand on Moriarty’s shirt and then took Moriarty’s pulse. Though it beat fast John was satisfied that Moriarty was not in danger. “Come on, let’s go,” John said as he helped Moriarty up. “There is bound to be Israeli soldiers along any minute.” John had no sooner gotten the words out of his mouth when the sound of a group of young women talking reached their ears. John and Moriarty ducked behind a large tree as a group of young female, Uzi carrying soldiers walked through the garden, stopping to chat within ear shot of John and Moriarty’s hiding place. Moriarty smiled as he listened to their conservation. John was less amused for he didn’t know Hebrew and all he wanted was for those wretched soldiers to leave. John breathed a sigh of relief as they laughed and moved on. Once Moriarty and John were sure the soldiers were gone they came out from their hiding place.

“Well, that was close. What were they talking about anyway?” John snapped irritability.

Moriarty chuckled, “They were talking about their boyfriends.”

John sighed and looked off into the distance, “What kind of world do we live in when young women are carrying Uzis and chatting about their boyfriends? “As Moriarty stood beside John, he became acutely aware of Moriarty’s presence at his side. “Moriarty, thank you, I mean you didn’t have to you know…Take a bullet for me.”

Moriarty smiled as he gazed into John’s eyes. “You know I would do anything for you, John. What puzzles me is why didn’t you kill me and escape when you had the chance?” Moriarty said softly as he lightly ran his fingers over John’s arm.

Mycroft gazed at Mary as she stood just outside in the little garden at the safe house. The intense light of the Middle Eastern sun made Mary’s hair appear as if it were glowing. Mary turned around and waved at Mycroft. Mycroft’s heart pounded in his chest as Mary made her way towards him. She stopped just short of his chest and held up her face for a morning kiss. Mycroft bent down to give her small peck on the cheek and then changed his mind as he drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Mary’s tongue moved delicately in Mycroft’s mouth and he was so engrossed in the kiss he gasped in surprise when he felt her hand pushing between his legs. Mary pushed harder and harder until Mycroft’s arousal soon turned to discomfort as the crotch area of his trousers tightened.

Mycroft had never made love outdoors in his life. “God, there was a first time for everything.” Mycroft thought as he lay on his back in the garden. Mary’s voice came out in squeaks as Mycroft’s long fingers reached into her underwear and began to penetrate her deeper and deeper until Mycroft’s hand was wet with Mary’s fluid. Mycroft’s blue eyes widened and his forehead became dotted with beads of sweat as Mary undid his pants, jerked down his underwear, her hands reaching for the prize inside. Mycroft wanted to roll Mary underneath him and push wildly inside her; instead he gently moved her underneath him, as Mary took her hand and guided him to that warm, sweet place where Mycroft cried out as he thrust into Mary slowly and methodically at first and then faster and faster as Mary groaned thrusting her hips upward so that Mycroft could go deeper inside her.

Mycroft’s lips devoured Mary’s neck as he murmured softly in her ear. “Mary, I want to please you. Show me where your spot is, for I want to penetrate it so deeply that you scream for me. Come on Mary, show me.” Mycroft said as his breath came out in ragged gasps, as Mycroft’s movements speeded up and his body thrashed wildly as Mary moved a little to his left Mycroft felt a release as warm fluid from his body poured inside Mary and down her legs. Mycroft could see from Mary’s quivering lips and from the way she threw her legs open wider that he had reached her. Mycroft thrust into her a couple more times and then he buried his face in her hair. “Mary, oh God Mary I love you.” Mycroft said as he moved his tongue down her body and between her legs. Mary screamed out in pleasure and she pulled on Mycroft’s hair as she took her fingers and made the way clearer so that Mycroft’s tongue could reach deeper into her. Mary gasped and whimpered as Mycroft’s teeth grazed her slightly, so that his tongue could reach its intended target inside her.

Sherlock stood at the window watching Mycroft and Mary make love. Any decent person would have looked away, but Sherlock watched Mycroft’s display of passion in fascination, for he had no idea that he could rouse a woman to the ecstasy that Mary was experiencing. Sherlock watched Mary as she screamed and dug her heels into the grass. “She is not faking it,” Sherlock thought as Mary screamed, gasped and thrashed underneath Mycroft. “Way to go brother mine,” Sherlock thought in amusement. As he turned away from the window Sherlock’s loneliness clawed at him until he felt wretched and small. “I’ve got to do something,” Sherlock thought as he restlessly paced the small confines of his room. At one point Sherlock smacked his palm against his forehead in frustration at his own stupidity. “My God, I have been so stupid. I should have thought of Isaac days ago,” Sherlock thought as he pulled out his iPhone, brought up his list of contacts and texted: IG Long time no see. In Jerusalem need help with mind palace. SH

John had just finished bandaging up Moriarty when a chime sounded on Moriarty’s tablet informing him that he had a message. Moriarty ignored it as he looked at John with those brown glittering eyes. “John, the time has come for me to take you on a journey. A journey if transmutation back in time to Jerusalem as it was in the days of the Knights Templar.”

John looked at Moriarty as if he had lost his mind. “What the hell are you getting at?” John snapped. “Is this some kind of trick?”

Moriarty shook his head. “No, it is not a trick. Are you ready to see how I kept from being dead, or how it appears that I can be in two places at once?” Moriarty whispered.

John was fed up with all of Moriarty’s double talk. “Sure, why not? What have I got to lose?” John thought bitterly.

A few moments later John stood with Moriarty in what appeared to be a combination of a laboratory and worship center with an altar. John shivered. The place gave him the creeps. Moriarty gestured for John to stand next to him. “John, have you any idea what document I was really after this afternoon?” Moriarty asked and then continued on not waiting for John’s answer. “I wanted a recipe, an ancient recipe that showed how years ago a Knight Templar had achieved transmutation. You see John; I wanted to destroy the document, so that no one could duplicate the process.” Moriarty then reached into what he called the hood, which was a sterile environment. He then pulled out a small vial, poured a small amount of liquid into a beaker and gently lifted it out, spit in it and drank a small portion and then handed the vial to John.

John looked at the contents of the beaker with distaste and sighed. “This is more up Sherlock’s alley; after all he’s the one who drank coffee with an eyeball in it.” John thought as he took a drink from the beaker. “Well, no guts, no glory,” John said aloud.

 

 


	16. Sherlock and the Knights Templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they entered the torch lit room the head Knight held up his sword and chanted, “A Templar Knight is truly a fearless Knight and secure on every side for his soul is protected by the armor of faith just as his body is protected by the armor of steel. He is thus doubly armed and need fear neither demons nor men.”  
> John swallowed and the hair of the back of his neck stood on end, for he was a Knight Templar, a part of history. Moriarty watched John and smiled, “John, you and I together will make history. We will be rulers of the world, John. You and I John, you and I…” Moriarty whispered into John’s ear.

“Keep your eyes fixed on me,” Moriarty ordered, as he took John’s chin in his hands. John felt momentary lost in the past when Moriarty said the words, “Keep your eyes fixed on me. Sherlock…”, John thought sadly.

“John pay attention,” Moriarty commanded.

John nodded, and then Moriarty continued, “John, stare into my eyes, when you see me slide out of focus, close your eyes. At first you will see black, then different colors, and then gray. After the gray, your vision will open up and you will see me. I will be your guide to the next plateau and you must do follow my instructions explicitly. Do you understand?” Moriarty asked.

John answered, “Yes, I understand, “even though he didn’t.

Moriarty crossed his legs and gestured for John to do the same. “John, look into my eyes.”

John felt awkward as he gazed into Moriarty’s brown limpid eyes. For a moment all he did was flush under Moriarty’s intense scrutiny and then just like that Moriarty slid out of focus and John closed his eyes. Black, then red, then pink, blue, every color that John could think of appeared before him, and then the grey. Moriarty stood on a type of clear ledge. “John, you are doing fine. Now focus on my voice, we are going to transmute into Jerusalem 1125 A.D., now close your eyes and follow my voice with your sub-conscious mind. Come on, that’s it John, follow me.”

When John opened his eyes he appeared to be in the middle of a battle, “Jesus,” John thought in horror as men hacked at each other with large heavy broadswords.

A firm grip on his arm kept John from screaming, throwing up or both. “Come on, John,” Moriarty shouted above the din. John gripped Moriarty’s arm and didn’t let go until they were safely inside of a building that appeared to be a Mosque. Once inside Moriarty led John to a torch lit room. Moriarty held out a set of chain mail, with the markings of the Knights Templar on the cloth type robe that slipped over the chain mail. “John, we will both appear as two of the eight Knight Templars. So, no need to worry about your identity. John, there are eight Knight Templars that are known; however it is the ninth mysterious Knight Templar we are after for he is the Knight that is the scribe.” John nodded as he followed Moriarty down several torch lit passageways; he paused before a heavy wooden, iron studded door. “John, you are about to become part of history.” Moriarty whispered as he opened the door.

 As they entered the torch lit room the head Knight held up his sword and chanted, “A Templar Knight is truly a fearless Knight and secure on every side for his soul is protected by the armor of faith just as his body is protected by the armor of steel. He is thus doubly armed and need fear neither demons nor men.”

John swallowed and the hair of the back of his neck stood on end, for he was a Knight Templar, a part of history. Moriarty watched John and smiled, “John, you and I together will make history. We will be rulers of the world, John. You and I John, you and I…” Moriarty whispered into John’s ear.

Over the next few days, Moriarty and John trained with the broadsword and at one point Moriarty stopped sparing to stare at John’s sweaty body, “John, perhaps we should rest.” Moriarty as he took John’s arm and led him over to a wooden bench.

Moriarty stared at John lustfully as John whipped a trickle of sweat from running into his eyes. If John, noticed he didn’t acknowledge it, which only increased Moriarty’s ardor. “Moriarty, it’s one thing to train, but quite another to fight in battle. I don’t believe in the Crusades, I think that they were brutal and immoral.”

Moriarty grabbed John’s  arm,”SSh, do you want to get us burned at the stake?” Moriarty hissed.

John fell silent as the gravity of his situation weighed heavily upon him. He missed Sherlock, he missed home. “I’m going to go pray,” John said, for he knew that Moriarty would not join him in prayers; therefore it was the only place that John could truly be alone. John entered a small darkened room, knelt down and crossed himself and bowed his head and mentally prayed. “Heavenly Father, it has been a long time since I have prayed from my heart. I beg you to have mercy on me and send me home. I don’t care whether I am sent home dead or alive, just please rescue me from this living hell and protect my Sherlock. Give me courage, dear Lord.” John said as he wept upon the altar. Moriarty stood in the doorway, as he mentally memorized John’s face as he prayed. “Like an angel he was,” Moriarty thought as a stream of light from overhead lit up John’s face. “I must paint him like this,” Moriarty thought as he leaned against the doorway. “John, truly looked like he was in communion with the Holy Father,” Moriarty mused as he uneasily backed out of the room.

Sherlock raced through the night. Isaac agreed to meet him and Sherlock wanted to hasten the meeting before Isaac changed his mind. Sherlock had known Isaac for years. He was a mystic and had taught Sherlock how to meditate and strengthen the power of his mind palace. Sherlock took a taxi to Isaac’s house and as they passed the Dome of the Rock, Sherlock thought of John. “Where are you, John?” Sherlock whispered aloud. As the cab rolled to a stop, Sherlock hopped out and approached Isaac’s house. It hadn’t changed much over the years and was a typical Middle Eastern square-like structure, with windows up high and a sleeping place on the roof. Sherlock sometimes wondered if  Isaac had occupied the house for thousands of years. He smiled at the illogical thought and before he could knock, Isaac answered the door.

“Come, Sherlock, tell me what you have been up to?” Isaac asked as if they had just seen each other the previous week. After offering a glass of warm mint tea, Sherlock thanked his host and leaned back against the cushions of the low couch and took a long drag from the hookah in front of them. “Isaac,” Sherlock said as the blue-like smoke encircled his features like a snake. “I beg you to forgive me, but time is of the essence, could we just this once skip the social customs and get down to the reason I have come.”

Isaac looked surprised for a moment and then nodded. “Tell me Sherlock, what is it that troubles you?”

Sherlock told Isaac about John’s disappearance, Moriarty’s cryptic phone messages, the dead members of the order, the DNA helix, transmutation and Sherlock’s suspicions.

Isaac puffed on the hookah for a few moments and then spoke, “Sherlock, I think I know of a way to communicate with John through your mind palace; however I am not sure if I can tell you how to find him or not.”

Sherlock nodded and took such a long drag on the hookah that the water bubbled continuously for a few seconds. “Isaac, I’m ready to go to my mind palace with you.”

Isaac nodded and stared into Sherlock’s eyes. In just a few minutes Isaac’s face blurred out of view and Sherlock went quickly through all the colors of meditation until he was in the soft white rooms of his mind palace. Sherlock brought up the image of John and stood before virtual John for so long that he jumped when Isaac cleared his throat. “Sherlock, we need to get to the part of your mind palace that contains the information we need.” Sherlock bid good-bye to virtual John, as he wandered through white glowing hallways; somewhere behind those doors was Redbeard, John and everything that Sherlock held most dear. With an almost Herculean effort Sherlock focused on the task at hand, as he and Isaac made their way through the labyrinth of Sherlock’s mind palace. They finally arrived at a door that looked like the door of an ancient castle. Sherlock and Isaac silently made their way into the room as Sherlock began to rummage through piles of old parchment. “Where are they?” Sherlock shouted, causing the room to shimmer.

“Sherlock, focus, John’s life may depend on it,” Isaac sternly commanded.

Sherlock took a deep breath and began to carefully read through each scroll. It seemed like hours later, when he and Isaac stopped for a moment. “Sherlock, keep going, trust your instincts,” Isaac whispered encouragingly. Sherlock nodded and wiped the beads of sweat that had begun to form on his forehead. It was then that he found it, an old brown piece of parchment. Sherlock handed the scroll to Isaac.

“Isaac, what is this?” Sherlock asked shakily.

Isaac turned the document over in his hands and looked at the outside, there could be no mistaking the seal on the outside of the document, it was the Cross of the Knights Templar.

 

  


	17. The Art of John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac smiled gently at Sherlock and patted his hand. “Have faith, Sherlock, John is closer than you know. After all isn’t it Einstein that said that, ‘Time is like a layered burrito.’?”  
> Sherlock looked at Isaac and almost laughed in an effort to break up the tension in the room. “Isaac, help me.” Sherlock said humbly, his eyes full of entreaty.   
> “Sherlock, you don’t have to beg me, for I am always here if you need me. With that being said you are going to have to give your scientific mind a rest and let faith take its course. Sherlock, we are going to have to transmute you back to where John is, back to 1125 A.D.”  
> Sherlock looked at Isaac as if he were insane and wondered if he had some form of dementia, but then he remembered the anguished look on John’s face and Sherlock knew he would agree to anything to as long as it helped John.

Moriarty had just put the finishing touches of his painting of John to canvas, when John entered the room. He inwardly gasped as he viewed the painting for it was perfect. Moriarty had captured John’s longing as he knelt in front of the candle lit altar, his eyes full of a martyr’s suffering as he appealed to a higher force for help. As John stepped closer, Moriarty put his arms around John’s waist and kissed him on the neck. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Moriarty whispered as he nuzzled John’s ear.

John pulled out of Moriarty’s grasp to look at the painting once more, the chain mail looked as if John could reach out and touch it and he shuddered as he observed the anguish he had felt that day, for Moriarty had even managed to paint a tear rolling down John’s face as he knelt there. “The painting, it’s so realistic,” John said aloud.

Moriarty beamed with pride. “I am so glad you like it. I am telling you John, it was a sheer pleasure to work with the oils of this time, it allowed for so much detail that I could never achieve in our time. Why it’s a wonder an artist can paint anything in the 21st Century, with the environmental tree huggers whining about not using whale oil, or ivory, blah, blah, blah… Who cares about a bunch of dumb animals, when the beauty of art lasts forever? Just think if  DaVinci or Michelangelo had been hampered with environmental constraints, we might have the art we have today.”

John looked at Moriarty in awe and thought, “How can anyone be so loving one minute and without mercy another minute?”

Moriarty mistook John’s look for admiration and smiled in pride, “Yes, John, I know I am truly remarkable, aren’t I?”

John just stood there in despair and it became so quiet in the room that he could hear the sizzle of the candle wick as the fire burned down it’s fragile length, until soon it would become a wisp of ash.

Sherlock looked over Isaac’s shoulder and read the document. “Why did I keep this useless thing in my mind palace?” Sherlock thought in disgust as he read down a column of treasures that the Knights Templar possessed, all for the glory of God,” Sherlock thought in disgust.

When Isaac grabbed his arm and pointed to one item in particular, Sherlock shrugged for he was becoming bored,”It’s a painting of a Knight, so what?”

Isaac sighed, “Sherlock still had so much more to learn. “Sherlock, we need to leave your mind palace now, I have something to show you.”

As the temporal world shimmered back around them Sherlock began to massage the feeling back into his legs. Isaac just watched him with those glowing silver eyes of his and Sherlock grimaced. “Don’t your feet ever go to sleep?” Sherlock snapped.

Isaac looked at Sherlock blankly, “No,” he replied flatly and then as if Sherlock hadn’t spoken Isaac asked him a question. “Sherlock, do you have your iPhone and can you access something on the internet?”

“What are you talking about? John is lost and you want to surf the web?” Sherlock shouted as he glared over at Isaac. When Isaac didn’t respond to his outburst Sherlock sighed and handed over his phone to Isaac. “Yes, you can access the internet.” Isaac took the phone from Sherlock and as the glow lit up his angular features, Sherlock reflected that is was surreal that such an ancient looking soul like Isaac was using an iPhone.

Isaac concentrated for a few moments and softy exclaimed, “Here, Sherlock, come here.”

Sherlock obliged and was thoroughly pissed when Isaac gestured for Sherlock to watch a video on the phone. “What the hell, Sister Wendy? Really you want me to watch an episode of Sister Wendy? Isaac come on,” Sherlock hissed and was about to turn off the phone when something caught his eye.

Sister Wendy stood in front of a painting of a Knight Templar, “As you can see this is a treasure of a painting and the artist is unknown, but see how he captures the pain and agony in the Knight’s face as he prays. It is almost as if he were enduring the suffering of Christ himself.”  Sister Mary said cheerfully as if she were inviting guests to a picnic. Sherlock pinched his fingers on the phone’s screen to enlarge the image of the painting and swore, “Jesus, Isaac this can’t be true,” he gasped. Sherlock hastily searched for the pause button on the video for he didn’t want to hear any more of Sister Wendy’s gruesome descriptions of the Crusades. “She’s a blood thirsty old bat,” Sherlock thought as he pushed the pause sign on the video and then the calamity of John’s situation overwhelmed him. “Jesus, Isaac that painting is of John. Where is my poor John? Is he lost in time with that twisted pyscho, Moriarty?” Sherlock asked in a quivering voice.

Isaac smiled gently at Sherlock and patted his hand. “Have faith, Sherlock, John is closer than you know. After all isn’t it Einstein that said that, ‘Time is like a layered burrito.’?”

Sherlock looked at Isaac and almost laughed in an effort to break up the tension in the room. “Isaac, help me.” Sherlock said humbly, his eyes full of entreaty.

“Sherlock, you don’t have to beg me, for I am always here if you need me. With that being said you are going to have to give your scientific mind a rest and let faith take its course. Sherlock, we are going to have to transmute you back to where John is, back to 1125 A.D.”

Sherlock looked at Isaac as if he were insane and wondered if he had some form of dementia, but then he remembered the anguished look on John’s face and Sherlock knew he would agree to anything to as long as it helped John.

Mycroft paced back and forth and Mary thought he looked very much like Sherlock as he did so. “Mycroft, please stop pacing, you are making me sea-sick.” Mary chided gently.

Mycroft kissed her hand and sat down next to her on the bed. “It’s just that I worry about him so. Sherlock thinks he is invincible. I don’t really know if he is even away of how fragile we all are. One of the benefits of being a sociopath I suppose,” Mycroft said aloud and began to pace again. “I put a tracer on him, but he found it of course and he also managed to dodge the man I had following him.”

“Does he have any friends here in Jerusalem?” Mary asked pointlessly.

Mycroft shook his head. “Sherlock has more friends than he knows, but he only acknowledges one.”

Mycroft put his head in his hands as he tried to rack his brain for any clue that would help them find Sherlock and then as if coming out of a hypnotic trance Mycroft raised his head. “I think I know where he went. Mary put your coat on for regardless of the heat during the day Jerusalem is cold at night.”

Mary was about to protest that she was a full grown woman and didn’t need Mycroft to tell her to put on a coat, but then she looked into his gentle blue eyes, sighed, went and got a coat out of the closet and meekly let Mycroft help her put it on. Mycroft’s hands lingered on Mary’s shoulder for a moment and then he said, “Are you ready Mary dearest?”

Mary pulled Mycroft down for a kiss and after a few moments Mycroft breathlessly pulled, “Jesus, Mary you are such a temptress, if this were anyone but Sherlock I would tell them to go to the devil and take you hard right now.”

Mary’s eyes got a little bigger, “Even MI6?”

Mycroft reached in a caressed her breast and breathlessly replied, “Even the fucking Queen herself Mary.” Reluctantly Mycroft slipped his hand out of her blouse and said in a sweet voice that Mary seldom heard, “Mary, I love you. Come on dearest; let’s go find my little brother.”

Mary stepped forward and then tentatively asked Mycroft,” Did you ever see Magnusson’s file of the type of woman I was?”

Mycroft nodded, “Of course my dear that is what first got me hot for you.”

Mary looked down and then back at Mycroft’s black, dilated eyes, “You saw me kill?”

Mycroft sighed. “Yes, and I thought you were magnificent. Now no more talk of this for I feel myself starting to get, well you know, hard as we speak.” Mycroft huskily replied.

Mary smiled back wickedly, “Come on Mycroft, a quickie please?” Mary begged.

“Shit, a few moments won’t make a difference, “Mycroft thought as Mary undid the zipper of his trousers and stuck her hand inside. As Mycroft struggled with his pants, Mary stopped him. “No, need to take off your clothes I can take you like this,” Mary said as ran her tongue along the inside of his thigh.

“Jesus,” Mycroft groaned as Mary buried her face in his crotch. He tensed for a few moments as Mary teased him with her tongue, and then she pushed him back on the bed and took him fully in her mouth. “Jesus, Mary I swear you are the anti-christ,” Mycroft hissed as he arched his body towards her. Mary didn’t answer for she was busy, very busy.

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Far Beyond Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle was fierce as man and beast fought each other for the right to claim Jerusalem and its supposed holy relics, as their own. John’s killing instincts came to fore as he bludgeoned, stabbed, and hacked his way through piles of dead and dying men. After the skirmish John rubbed down his battle weary horse, he stared into the brown eyes of the only true friend he had in this time-his horse, which John had secretly nick-named Hope. The horses of the Knights Templar were trained to do battle, and John’s horse, Hope had saved his life several times already. John took a deep breath and leaned his head against Hope’s head, “I have to go and tend the wounded, rest well my friend,” John said as he made his way to where the injured were.

The battle was fierce as man and beast fought each other for the right to claim Jerusalem and its supposed holy relics, as their own. John’s killing instincts came to fore as he bludgeoned, stabbed, and hacked his way through piles of dead and dying men. After the skirmish John rubbed down his battle weary horse, he stared into the brown eyes of the only true friend he had in this time-his horse, which John had secretly nick-named Hope. The horses of the Knights Templar were trained to do battle, and John’s horse, Hope had saved his life several times already. John took a deep breath and leaned his head against Hope’s head, “I have to go and tend the wounded, rest well my friend,” John said as he made his way to where the injured were.

The wounded lay in the courtyard, as a priest administered last rites, and just as the soldier had taken over in the battlefield, the Doctor took over as John stitched up gashes, held the hands of a dying man, and screamed to anyone who would listen, “I need hot water and bandages-NOW.” John shouted, as he struggled not to hyperventilate. John waved a priest away, “He’s not dead yet and John knew if he slipped the man’s chain mail off, his patient would bleed out. John reached a bloody hand up and grabbed the priest down next to him. “Hold his chain mail up like this, but wait for my say so,” John said as he held up the chain mail up just enough to allow him to slip his hands underneath. “Now,” John ordered as he slid his hands into the pile of intestine underneath gagging as the stench of perforated bowel overpowered him. The priest’s grip wavered and John shouted again, “Don’t even think about letting go.” About the only thing John could do was to stitch up the small hole he could see in the colon and then stuff the intestine back in through the open wound. Someone had brought him a cauldron of hot water from the forge of the blacksmith and John kept his hands inside the man as he looked over at the priest, “I need you to get a clean sword from wherever you can and hold it in the forge of the blacksmith until it glows red. Do you understand?” John said breathing slowly to keep his hands from shaking. “Then go now and for the love of God, hurry.” John said sternly.

It seemed as if the priest had been gone for hours when he finally came back with the sword; John cleaned the wound as best he could and then took the sword and cauterized the man’s injury. Tears poured down John’s face in an effort not to vomit and after he was through John swayed to his feet. “The man probably wouldn’t live through the night,” John thought as he wearily stitched up more gashes. His last patient was one of the warrior horses, a beautiful black animal that stood quietly by as John sewed up a slash on the horse’s rump.

After he was done, John just stood in the blood strewn courtyard covered from head to toe in every imaginable fluid possible. Moriarty had been watching John, ignoring the gash on his forehead he walked over to where John stood, “John,” Moriarty said softy as he took John’s arm. “John, you did well today.” Moriarty said as he brushed the blood that ran in his eyes. John’s eyes darkened as he looked at Moriarty’s pale white face, “Moriarty you’re hurt let me take a look at that,” John said as he gently examined the gash above Moriarty’s eye, “You’re lucky you didn’t lose that eye. Keep some pressure on the wound and I will stich it up in our quarters,” John said as he brushed the blood matted hair away from Moriarty’s forehead. Looking both ways Moriarty stroked the inside of John’s wrist. “John,” Moriarty whispered as he stared at John with longing. John let his fingers lightly linger on Moriarty’s forehead before he let his hand drop limply to his side. Moriarty’s gazed never wavered from John’s face as he pretended he was too weak to walk, without John’s assistance. Neither of them noticed the figure in chain mail that quietly watched them from a darkened corner of the courtyard.

Once back in their quarters John let Moriarty clean his sword and then he helped John take off his filthy chain mail. The once white tunic with the Red Cross of the Templars was unrecognizable as Moriarty kicked it out the door. John sat naked on the bed, cuts and scrapes covered his entire body; he didn’t seem to notice as stared off into the distance. Moriarty held a cloth to the wound on his head, as he helped John slip into a soft tunic and pants. He fingered the clothes that Moriarty had helped him put on and for the first time since they entered their quarters John looked up at Moriarty’s forehead and without a word he stood up, cleaned the wound and examined it. “It won’t need stiches,” was the only thing John said as he sat back down on the corner of the bed.

Moriarty looked at John with a hunger in his eyes that John knew all too well. John turned away as Moriarty grabbed at his waist. “Sherlock was safe, so no need to give in to Moriarty’s lustful advances for Sherlock was safe in the 21st Century,” thought John as pushed Moriarty away.

Moriarty laughed, intrigued by John’s reluctance, “John, I know you well enough by this time to know exactly what you are thinking and if you think that I can’t reach Sherlock from here, then you are sadly mistaken. I can burn the heart out of him from anywhere. I can make him suffer, slowly,” Moriarty said as he laughed and imagined Sherlock dying in the most horrible way he could conjure up.

John stared back at Moriarty in hatred, “How do I know you’re not lying?” John asked.

Moriarty laughed again as he pulled John back against him, trying to keep his excitement at bay. Moriarty then began to kiss John’s neck and in between kisses Moriarty whispered, “Do you really want to call my bluff, John? Do you really want to risk Sherlock’s life-your heart,” Moriarty spat as his hands found John’s stomach. John didn’t answer as Moriarty moved his hands lower, when they found what they were looking for, Moriarty ran his hands in and around his intended target. At first Moriarty’s hands gently explored, and then as Moriarty began to breathe deeper, his explorations became more insistent, desperate. “Come on, John,” Moriarty growled as he inserted his fingers deeper into to what he referred to as, “John’s X marks the spot place.” Then as Moriarty’s fingers became moist with John’s fluid he smiled, “That’s it John, let me take you. Come on, John good boy. Let Moriarty make it all better,” Moriarty whispered as he kept up his machinations.

John felt a variety of emotions, as he grabbed Moriarty, and pulled his body underneath him. Moriarty started to say something as John slapped him hard across the face, “Shut up,” John shouted, as he positioned himself above Moriarty, “Just shut up,” John said again, even though Moriarty lay silently beneath him. John’s heart was pounding with anxiety, repulsion, and the delayed stress from battle, as he leveraged his body so that Moriarty would bear the most pressure from his deep penetrating thrusts. John let his mind drift as he grabbed Moriarty by the hair on each side of his head and each time he pushed himself deeper inside Moriarty, John would pull back on his head, making sure that Moriarty felt the full effect of each tunneling motion he executed. Moriarty whimpered, as John hit him again, “Shut up, this is what you wanted remember?” John hissed as Moriarty struggled beneath him and John didn’t know whether Moriarty was struggling from pleasure or from pain, and as he attempted to release the stress that boiled deep down inside him, John didn’t care.

Even though Mary’s night vision was far superior to his own, she let Mycroft take her hand and lead her through the dark, narrow winding streets of Jerusalem. They finally stopped in front of a stone square house and Mary shivered. Mycroft slipped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, “Are you cold my dearest?” Mycroft whispered into her ear.

Mary looked up at Mycroft and snuggled closer to him for she loved the scratchy feel of his beard and the warmth from his breath as it tickled her ear. Before Mycroft had even knocked at the door it was opened by an older woman, skin as brown as a nut, she looked like an apple doll and Mary shivered when she spoke, for her voice sounded young and full of power. “He’s been expecting you two, he’s through there,” She said as she pointed to a room just beyond where they all stood, her eyes never leaving Mary’s. Instinctively, Mary let go of Mycroft’s hand and fingered the gun in her jacket pocket, its cold hard steel was more comforting that warmth of Mycroft’s hand.

 The first thing Mycroft noticed as they filed into the room where the creepy apple doll woman had pointed, was not the old man who sat in the middle of the room in a meditative pose, but all the broadswords, suits of chain mail, and other items of warfare from the 12th Century. The man opened his eyes; he had the same young, strong voice as the woman who had answered the door. “Mycroft, you have come for Sherlock? Have you not?”

Mycroft nodded in irritation, for he detested the weird sorts that Sherlock seemed to attract. “Where is my little brother, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked again, for he had already begun to lose his patience.

The man’s brown eyes met Mycroft’s blue eyes, “He is safe for the time being, but far beyond your reach.”

Mycroft pulled the man to his feet, “Where is he?” Mycroft hissed.


	19. Sands of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The woman sighed. “Sherlock, that feels so good, your lovely long fingers bruising my neck, but you know all I have to do is call for my guards and you will be thrown to the crocodiles this very day and then what will happen to John? The thought of your white flesh being torn apart, blood filling the water as children cheer and crocodiles fight over the pleasure of eating you whole, Sherlock, I almost hope you make me call for them for the thought of the intellect of Sherlock Holmes being eaten up by the crocs is so..so exhilarating. Come on Sherlock, come out to play.” The woman simpered.

Sherlock felt hands touching him, voices spoke in ancient Greek, “Ssh rest now, your body is so beautiful a work of art,” a female voice whispered as she rubbed sweet smelling oil on his face, his neck, his chest, his abdomen, his pelvis, his….”Jesus, wherever I am is….marvelous,” Sherlock breathed as he physically responded to the erotic touch that held him prisoner.

Sherlock took a deep breath and thought that was the strangest dream he had ever had. “Where am I?” Sherlock thought as he looked around him in confusion. His chest was bare and his torso was wrapped in white folds of material that felt like linen, or something close to it. The air around him was warm and dry, an arid breeze dehydrated Sherlock’s moist skin and in the distance he could hear the flow of a river; its lapping made him lean back on the small pallet he was lying on and he stared up at the white linen canopy that provided him with shade from the blistering sun, and beyond that Sherlock stared at the beautiful blue sky.

“Glad, to see you’re awake,” a female voice purred in Greek, as she stroked the side of Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock sat up to look at his captor or perhaps savior and gasped, “Irene Adler?”

The woman laughed, “I’m known by another name in this time. I am known as Cleopatra-lover.” She whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock jumped up, stepping on his garment, almost ripping it off as he did so. Hastily, Sherlock grabbed at the folds of the material, as the woman laughed, “Oh Sherlock, don’t worry it’s nothing I haven’t seen before or touched.” She said as she leaned in for a kiss.

Sherlock pushed her away and spoke aloud to no one in particular,” I was supposed to go back to 1125 A.D. Jerusalem, what the hell happened?”

“You Sherlock are in Ancient Egypt, 47 B.C...”  The woman whispered.  

“Why, I mean I don’t understand…Where is John? How…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off as she put a finger to his lips.

“Ssh silly boy, I will explain all in good time. Sherlock, do you honestly believe that transmutation originated with the Rosicrucians? Oh no my dear boy the origination of their power started here in Egypt and if you are good boy I will show you how to rescue your beloved John Watson, but first you must do something for me. Agreed?” The woman said mockingly for she held all the cards and it gave her great pleasure to see the great and mighty Sherlock squirm.  

Sherlock would look back on this moment as one of the most devastating moments of his life and as often in times like these, Sherlock would remember the smell of the perfumed oil that had been rubbed into his skin, the smell of the woman’s hair, the feel of the dry desert breeze and the feel and smell of the moisture that reached his senses from the river. “What choice do I have?” Sherlock commented bitterly.

The woman wrapped her arms around Sherlock from behind and spoke softly, her warm breath tickling the inside of Sherlock’s ear, ”Oh come now. Why so downtrodden? You stopped whimpering for John soon enough, as I pleasured you.” The woman laughed when Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes Sherlock it was not a dream. I had you. I had you several times; in fact maybe you will be the father of my child. What do think of that Sherlock?  Daddy Sherlock, it has a nice ring to it doesn’t it?”

Sherlock turned around and grabbed the woman by the throat, “Stop it now or I will crush your windpipe.”

The woman sighed. “Sherlock, that feels so good, your lovely long fingers bruising my neck, but you know all I have to do is call for my guards and you will be thrown to the crocodiles this very day and then what will happen to John? The thought of your white flesh being torn apart, blood filling the water as children cheer and crocodiles fight over the pleasure of eating you whole, Sherlock, I almost hope you make me call for them  for the thought of the intellect of Sherlock Holmes being eaten up by the crocs is so..so exhilarating. Come on Sherlock, come out to play.” The woman simpered.

Sherlock stood there fighting down the urge to scream, as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “What do you want, Irene,… Cleopatra,… woman?”

The woman reached up and smoothed down Sherlock’s curls, “Aw, now that’s a good boy. Play with me and you just might be able to rescue your precious Doctor.”

Sherlock slapped her hand away, “What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to travel to a difference plane of existence. I need you to get something for me from Duat.” The woman said as she smiled slyly at Sherlock.

“Duat, you mean the ancient plane of existence that the Egyptians believed to a parallel of our own in which Ra crossed over the earth to the underworld, only to be re-born again at dawn?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Oh you are such a clever, boy, Sherlock. Yes, there is something of power I need you to get for me. Something made of light, something very powerful. Sherlock,… something new.” The woman said seductively, knowing Sherlock’s weakness for exotic, unchartered adventures.

“Why can’t you just go get it yourself?” Sherlock snapped.

“I am not on the side of angels Sherlock, my soul is not pure, as is yours. You must get it and bring it back to me.” The woman pressed.

Sherlock still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t dreaming, so he replied, “Whatever, you wish my Queen. So, when do I go on this..this errand for you?” Sherlock asked in a bored monotone voice.

“Patience, Sherlock, all in good time. First you must be trained. The underworld is a dangerous place fraught with peril, and it would break my heart if something were to happen to my little pet, Sherlock.” The woman crooned.

Sherlock felt so consumed with hatred that he wanted to kill the woman then and there, instead he just replied back in a syrupy, sweet voice, “Fine, when do we begin?”

Mycroft wanted to strangle the little man, Isaac that smiled sadly up at him. “Mycroft, Sherlock has meditated to another plane of existence.”

Mycroft could resist the urge any longer, as he reached out and grabbed Isaac. “Where is my little brother?”

Isaac was stronger than he looked as he wrenched himself out of Mycroft’s grip, “Your little brother is in 47 B.C. Egypt.”

Mycroft leaned heavily against the wall, “Why?”

Isaac gazed into Mycroft’s eyes, “It has always been his path to right this wrong.”

Mycroft felt anger burning through him once more, “How is he supposed to accomplish this? What if he can’t get back?”

“If he does not make it back, you will not remember him,” Isaac replied heavily.

“He’s my brother; of course I would never forget him. I just couldn’t…I just couldn’t.” Mycroft said as an involuntary image of young Sherlock running through a meadow with his dog Redbeard came to mind. “I don’t believe it’s possible.”

Mary hated to see Mycroft struggle and so she didn’t tell him that she thought that is was possible to lose someone in time. She believed that a person could be swallowed up and never brought to mind. After all wasn’t she, Mary, a forgotten person?

 


	20. Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once they were inside the tunnel, the priest lit a torch and John wrinkled his nose in disgust from the tallow that made it burn. As they worked their way downwards through the tunnels, John thought that a person could wander around in this maze forever, never finding a way out. “I would have to have this image at the narrowest point of the passageway,” John thought as he squeezed sideways through a part so tight that John had to take a deep breath to fit through the tiny opening. The tunneling seemed to go on for hours and then the air seemed clearer, less full of mildew and dry rot. The priest stopped so suddenly that John almost ran into him. “John Watson, you must complete the journey alone from this point onwards. Just keep to the left and you will come to a large room, there will be two others to meet you. They are expecting your arrival, so don’t tarry.”

John lay next to Moriarty, his heart pounded and he knew that sleep was going to evade him yet again. When a knock sounded at the door John bounded up with relief to answer it and was surprised to find the priest that had assisted him in the courtyard standing there. “You must come quickly John Watson, for your patient only has a few hours left.” The priest said as his sad tired eyes met John’s.

John nodded, grabbed a fresh tunic, his sword and followed the priest to the main floor where his patient lay in agony on a floor pallet. As John rushed to his side, the man reached out and grabbed John’s wrist. His grip was stronger than John would have thought he could manage and his eyes were burning with zeal as he pulled John down next to him. “There is nothing medically you can do for me John Watson and the priest has prepared my soul for the afterlife; however you must keep a meeting that alas I will not be able to attend. John, the future freedom of the world depends on you for I am giving you my position in the brotherhood. The password is Solomon’s Wisdom; promise me you will go the priest will give you the details.”  The man’s body was beginning to spasm and John knew that his patient would soon go through the death throes.

“What the hell,” John thought, as he answered affirmatively. “Yes, I will keep your appointment.”

The man griped John’s hand in a strange manner and whispered, “This is the handshake of the brotherhood. Will you remember it, John Watson?”

John nodded as tears filled his eyes, even though he had seen death many times John would never get used to the body’s fight to keep from shutting down. The man’s body thrashed back and forth, his legs shook and a small trickle of blood dripped from his mouth, down his chin and made drips of red on the stone floor. John stared at its progression in fascination, trying to focus on anything but the gurgling in the man’s throat. One minute it sounded like a bubbling water pipe and then with a hiss of air the man breathed his last and John closed his eyes as an unearthly silence filled the room, followed by a putrid death stench as the man’s bowels evacuated. John wanted to weep for the soldier, “but then maybe he is better off,” John thought wearily, as he ran a hand across his face and unsteadily wobbled to his feet.

 The priest silently stood in the corner and gave John a moment of two to compose himself and then pulled at his sleeve, “Brother John Watson, we must leave for the meeting is tonight and it is crucial you be there. All of hum…”

John sighed, “Yeah, I know all humanity depends on it.”

The priest looked at John like a curious puppy and said, “John Watson, your manner of speech is strange.”

For a moment John became fearful that the man would think he was a practitioner of the dark arts and thought that he had to be careful not to use modern slang. Then another thought occurred to John, “Maybe, I invented a swear word that traveled down through history.” John mused to himself and almost began to laugh hysterically from exhaustion, but then one grim look from the priest silenced him.

As they made their way outside, John marveled at how many stars lit up the sky; it almost made him dizzy to look at them. He stood still for a few moments looking up until the little priest pulled at his sleeve, “Hurry, John Watson, we still have a little ways to go.”

John glared down at the little priest and thought, “Slower pace of life, my ass, this priest is about to run me ragged.”

By the time they reached their destination, John was out of breath and was mildly irritated that the priest was breathing normally. “We, are going underneath the city, it is going to be a very tight squeeze, so prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself how? What am I supposed to do?  I don’t see any Alice in Wonderland magic mushrooms.” John thought sarcastically.

Once they were inside the tunnel, the priest lit a torch and John wrinkled his nose in disgust from the tallow that made it burn. As they worked their way downwards through the tunnels, John thought that a person could wander around in this maze forever, never finding a way out. “I would have to have this image at the narrowest point of the passageway,” John thought as he squeezed sideways through a part so tight that John had to take a deep breath to fit through the tiny opening. The tunneling seemed to go on for hours and then the air seemed clearer, less full of mildew and dry rot. The priest stopped so suddenly that John almost ran into him. “John Watson, you must complete the journey alone from this point onwards. Just keep to the left and you will come to a large room, there will be two others to meet you. They are expecting your arrival, so don’t tarry.”

John opened his mouth to say, “Oh, so no window shopping?” But the priest was already gone.

John did as expected and soon found himself in a circular room, torches illuminated the room and John took a deep breath when he saw two other men standing in the center of the area.

Both of the men that looked at John were obviously warriors, for they too were armed with swords. The dark, tall man with brooding eyes that burned with zeal approached John first. “My name is Aaban and this,” he said as he gestured to the other man, “is Isaac. Welcome John Watson, for tonight is a historic even that will last eternally. Tonight is the night that a Christian, a Muslim and a Jew, will pledge to uphold the brotherhood. We are the servants of the master builder-God. Tell us do you know the password? Do you know the handshake?”

John stepped into the light and his heart pounded in his chest as he thought, “My God could this be the beginning of the ancient brotherhood-the Masonic Circle?”


	21. Ionic Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Isaac instructed them in the meditation sequence, they all sat down and just when Mycroft thought that nothing was happening, he felt slightly off kilter, as the colors behind his eyes, went from red, to blue, to purple, to gray, to white, then nothing. Mycroft opened his eyes and looked around in him confusion, May sat next to him with the same expression on her face, as two servant girls carried clothing to them and then a voice that sounded chillingly familiar spoke from the doorway, “Welcome Mycroft and oh I see you have brought a playmate,” the woman said as she stood before Mary, “So, what name are you going by these days Marguerite, Dauphine, oh that’s right, it’s Mary isn’t it?”  
> Mary looked at the woman with unveiled contempt, “You know very well I am going by Mary.”  
> The woman made a clucking disapproval sound with her tongue, “Now, Mary where are your manners? After all it’s been so long, and well it really is no way to great your sister is it?”   
> Mycroft openly gaped as he stared at Mary, “Mary, your sister is Irene Adler?”

Sherlock followed the woman through a series of hallways, filled with artifacts that would have been worth a fortune in 21st Century London and he wondered if he could manage to sneak a few back with home, assuming he got back. As this grim thought took possession of Sherlock’s mind he frowned in irritation as the woman seductively swayed her hips, accentuating the fact that she had nothing on underneath the flimsy white gown she was wearing.

As if sensing his disapproval the woman turned around and made a pouting motion with her lips. “Sherlock, aren’t I as pretty as John? Have dinner with me, for I smell much better than John and I can guarantee that I am infinitely sweeter. Oh my, that’s right; you already know how passions with a woman work now. I remember, don’t you? Surely, you haven’t forgotten how my hand maidens and I pleasured you over and over? You were so darling begging for more and begging for mercy at the same time.”

Sherlock now faced the woman and he reached out and grabbed her by the neck, “Stop it, now, or I will choke the life out of you.”

The woman made a clucking noise of disapproval, “Sherlock, I thought we already addressed that issue, but I can see that my soft neck has mesmerized you. Come on let’s play, my God it arouses me to think of you naked at my feet in a collar.” Sherlock’s eyes widened as the pulse point in his neck began to throb. “Ah, I can see it appeals to you, doesn’t it my dearest? You would make such a cute pet; it disappoints me that I need you for something else first.”

The woman smiled mockingly as she put her hand on Sherlock’s collar bone, and then slowly like a snake, she let her fingers rest in the middle of his chest, then down to his navel, Sherlock tensed when she started to move her hand lower, she then laughed as her fingers hovered just below Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock remained passive as he attempted to disengage his attention from Irene’s swirling fingers. The woman laughed again and it reminded Sherlock of a slightly out of tune wind chime, beautiful and yet ugly at the same time and just as Sherlock thought his body would betray him the woman snatched her hand back and then sighed in pleasure. “Sherlock, you must complete your task quickly, for I want to tease you. Oh come on now don’t look so innocent, my pet, for I know your true nature, you love to be the servant. Can you see it? You hogtied at my feet, weeping in frustration as I pleasantly torture you with a riding crop, a feather and maybe even my scepter.” She purred as she turned her scepter over in her hand, making gestures with it that made the blood drain from Sherlock’s face, as he struggled to maintain his composure. “All in good time lover,” she whispered as she bit into Sherlock’s ear lobe until it bled. The woman watched Sherlock as he nobly stood at attention, not bothering to brush away the trickle of blood that ran down his ear, then his jaw, then his neck until it pooled underneath in the hollow in between his collar bones.

She then slowly walked towards Sherlock and bent her head down for a taste of the blood that had once ran warm, but was now cold. “Sherlock, you are a treat for the senses,”  and as she started to say something else, she stopped as she looked at Sherlock’s stance, for it made him look like a soldier and somehow it made her sad, for she knew that he was a hero and he was a part of John, just as much as John was a part of him and that their separation was only immaterial for they were fused  together as tightly as any ionic bond that she could think of, in another words it wouldn’t make a difference if one of them died or not. For a moment the woman felt jealous, then she felt angry, and finally she felt satisfaction, for Sherlock didn’t realize the power of the bond between him and John. However, it was no matter for by the time Sherlock realized the truth of their love bond; it would be too late, for he would like most humans would natter away his time with silly puzzles and deductions and like so many before him and after him, he would most likely discover the truth on his death bed as an old man.

Feeling a sense of satisfaction she hadn’t felt in a long while, the woman reveled in the knowledge for she realized, that knowing the truth about another, before the individual knew it themselves, was a feeling of pure power,  “The apple, the tree of knowledge,” she thought to herself. She then beckoned for Sherlock to follow her, as she opened the door to a large room that looked like a training gym. In the corner, an old man sat on the floor in a meditation stance, as a younger man in his prime trained in kata like formations with some sort of staff. Sherlock watched the man train for a few moments and he admired the man’s precision, for it didn’t take a weapon’s expert to recognize a killing strike, as the thrust of the weapon came down so forcefully that the air from it ruffled the man’s hair that was meditating.

Irene clapped her hands and the man stopped and stood to attention as the woman smiled, “Bomani, this is Sherlock, and you are to train him. You are to train him to traverse through the underworld.”

Then man’s widened in shock for a moment and then he inclined his head towards the woman. “As you wish, my divine Queen.”

Irene looked over at Sherlock, “Sherlock, welcome to Egypt.” She then bent close to Sherlock, so that only he could hear her, “Welcome to hell.”

Mycroft rounded on Isaac as Mary looked on, “Isaac, you will transport Mary and I back to Egypt, or I will have you drawn and quartered. Do you understand?” Mycroft hissed his voice low and menacing.

Isaac shrugged like a small child that didn’t have an answer for a difficult question, “Since you put it that way, I have no other choice, do I?”

Mycroft nodded and then looked over at Mary, “This could be dangerous and I wouldn’t want you to get stuck back in time somewhere.”

Mary shook her head, “No, I’m going with you. We will face whatever it is together.”

Mycroft looked down and then up and sighed, for they both knew that Mary would win out in the end.

After Isaac instructed them in the meditation sequence, they all sat down and just when Mycroft thought that nothing was happening, he felt slightly off kilter, as the colors behind his eyes, went from red, to blue, to purple, to gray, to white, then nothing. Mycroft opened his eyes and looked around in him confusion, May sat next to him with the same expression on her face, as two servant girls carried clothing to them and then a voice that sounded chillingly familiar spoke from the doorway, “Welcome Mycroft and oh I see you have brought a playmate,” the woman said as she stood before Mary, “So, what name are you going by these days Marguerite, Dauphine, oh that’s right, it’s Mary isn’t it?”

Mary looked at the woman with unveiled contempt, “You know very well I am going by Mary.”

The woman made a clucking disapproval sound with her tongue, “Now, Mary where are your manners? After all it’s been so long, and well it really is no way to great your sister is it?”

Mycroft openly gaped as he stared at Mary, “Mary, your sister is Irene Adler?”

 


	22. Branding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gagged and retched as two strong arms laid him face down on a table, a table where they shackled his arms and legs to the side. “John,” Moriarty whispered as he knelt down at John’s eye level. “John, you are going to be experiencing a lot of pain, but afterwards you will be mine, mine forever, no sneaking out at night to meet other men for you, for I am going to brand you as my personal property.”

John had gone to several meetings after the initial gathering with his two brothers as he now called them and John couldn’t say he was happy, but he had hope that even if he didn’t get home he would have at least made an attempt to secure peace in the world through the Masonic Brotherhood. He had not seen the scribe that Moriarty sought, but then maybe there never was such a person, after all Moriarty was insane, so the scribe could be just a figure in his twisted imagination. John let his thoughts drift as he made his way back to the Knights Templar Compound, he should have been focused on his surroundings, that way he would have been alert, that way he would not have fallen victim to the amateurish ambush that had been set for him.

One moment John had been creeping quietly along the desert floor and the next moment he was knocked unconscious from behind. John tasted blood in his mouth and groaned as he felt rough hands removing his armor, and then oh God no his clothing, John wasn’t given a chance to reflect on his current state of undress as he was shackled, and yanked to his feet. He then was poked and prodded by sticks as his captors made lewd comments about his nakedness, chilling comments like, “Look at the nice pink arse, it looks empty, and it looks like it could do with a little something or a big something stuffed in it.” The men laughed as one of them slammed him against the wall and John gagged on his own bile as the man’s fetid breath whispered in his ear, “Come on sweetie, no need for the master to know.” John tensed as the man’s hand slid in a very private place, “Come on don’t tense, you will be grateful once I ride you. My God, have you ever seen such a pink arse in all your life. He looks tight, but don’t worry I will soften him up for you men, “the man said as he began to manipulate John’s body, so that it could be easily violated.  John frantically struggled as he heard his would be rapist’s pants and belt clatter to the floor. Tears flowed freely down his face for John didn’t think he could take much more, then just as he prepared himself for penetration, the man made a grunting noise, as an arrow pierced him through. John cried out as the shaft went clean through the man’s chest the tip of it biting into his back, as it sliced its way down his body. The arrow and the blood from his would be attacker flowed freely, down John’s back, his waist, his buttocks his upper thighs, John heard the man hit the floor at his feet as his body splashed in his own blood. By this time John was openly weeping not caring whether anyone saw him or not and then he heard a familiar voice which made him weep harder.

“I said you were to bring him to me unharmed,” Moriarty hissed as he leveled the black crossbow he had in his hand at the motley group that surrounded John. “Now pick him up and lay him down gently on the table, oh and get rid of the body of that filthy pig that tried to violate my John, throw his body out in the desert for the animals to eat.”

John gagged and retched as two strong arms laid him face down on a table, a table where they shackled his arms and legs to the side. “John,” Moriarty whispered as he knelt down at John’s eye level. “John, you are going to be experiencing a lot of pain, but afterwards you will be mine, mine forever, no sneaking out at night to meet other men for you, for I am going to brand you as my personal property.”

John gasped as he looked up at Moriarty, “What?” He gasped.

Moriarty then took John’s hand in his own and said sadly, “I’m sorry, John, this is for the best you will see. Now keep your eyes fixed on me.”

John gasped again as he asked, “What….” His question trailed off in a violent screech as he felt a red-hot brand searing his buttocks. The last thing John remembered before he lost consciousness was the smell of his own burning flesh, his scream of agony and Moriarty’s echoed scream of agony as John squeezed Moriarty’s hand so tightly, that he crushed the bones in Moriarty’s fingers.


	23. No One Chooses Me.

Mycroft exhaled a long breath of air as if he had just taken a drag on a cigarette, “Mary, what is she talking about?”

Irene smiled thinly, “Yes, Mary shall you tell him or should I?” After a few moments of silence Irene pouted. “Well, I guess that leaves me to tell Mycroft just exactly what he is falling in love with. Mycroft, Mary and I are creatures from a different time, we are doomed to wander through the centuries, we are the lost ones, leftover remnants from another time, when gods and spirits ruled the world. Everything was so much simpler then.”

Mycroft leaned forward, “So, you and Mary are immortal? Like vampires?”

Irene chuckled, “No, not exactly, we are a combination of immortal and human. Oh, that’s right Mary has chosen to become mortal, for love, God help her.”

Mycroft looked confused as he looked over at Mary, “What is she talking about? You became mortal for John?”

Irene sighed in frustration, “Mary, how can you stand it? You should have fallen in love with a woman, thereby bypassing the small mindedness of the male gender; it is their curse, not to realize the truth until it is too late. No, the soft Doctor Watson, whose heart has always belonged to Sherlock, is not the individual that Mary gave up her privileges for.”

Mycroft sat forward with a look of triumph, “Wait, a minute if you are immortal, how come Sherlock had to come and rescue you?”

Irene laughed, it was an unpleasant sound that sent chills up Mycroft’s spine, “Sherlock, is such a clever boy about some things and other things he is useless for he rescued me because he thought I needed him. Sherlock will never be at the side of the one who truly needs him for matters of the heart have always escaped him, and as old age racks his body, he will weep with regret at what he threw away with both hands.”

Mycroft rubbed the back of his neck in frustration for he had a one track mind, “So, who was the lover that Mary gave up her immortally for? Was it Magnusson?”

Irene threw back her head and openly laughed this time, “Magnusson, no not Magnusson, he just used her abilities for his own nefarious purposes. Mary, tell him why make him suffer?”

Mary’s face had turned a deathly white, as she jumped up and ran out into the burning sands of the desert. She ran past several surprised female servants she ran until she collapsed in exhaustion under a palm tree and she wept like she had never wept before. Mycroft jumped up and followed her, ignoring the sand as it burned the bottoms of his feet, sliding to his knees as he knelt beside Mary, taking her in his arms. When she had wept until she could weep no longer, Mycroft took her chin and gently turned her tear stained face upwards. “Mary, tell me, please tell me what has brought this heartbreak upon you.”

“Mycroft,” Mary whispered as she kissed him fully on the lips, letting her tongue linger in the places he loved best and after a few moments she faced him, “Mycroft, it’s you; you are the one I have given up everything for. Mycroft I love you.”

Mycroft pulled away and looked at Mary in disbelief, “Me? You love me? You must be mistaken for no one ever picks me. No one ever loves me; it’s just not possible, is it?” Mycroft whispered in wonder as he bent back down to face Mary.

This time Mycroft kissed Mary first and was hardly surprised when Mary stuck her hand in the folds of his Egyptian attire, searching, searching, until she found his spot, Mycroft’s spot, the spot that made his knees weak, as warmth pooled through his entire body. “Mary, I love you and I pledge my heart what there is of it to you, forever, Mary…” Mycroft said as his words trailed off into gasps of ecstasy. Both were so engrossed in pleasing each other that they failed to notice the black snake that slithered towards them.


	24. Through Heaven and Earth

The black snake was poised, ready to strike, to sink its fangs into the fleshy folds of one of its victims and as it opened its mouth in a casual deadly yawn, Mary screamed. Mycroft turned slowly around just in time to see a large sword- like weapon slice down, cutting the serpent in two. In surprise Mycroft shielded his eyes against the sun to see who their rescuer was and his mouth came open in surprise, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock stood tall holding one half of the wriggling snake in his hand and the weapon in the other, he was dressed in typical Egyptian dress, bare chested, his torso wrapped in the same garment as Mycroft wore, but it was the expression in his eyes that surprised Mycroft the most, for usually Sherlock kept the depths of expressions from his eyes hidden behind heavy, sarcastic laden  lids, however this time his eyes shown in triumph as he held up the snake, its movements slowly ceasing as the reflexes of its body reconciled themselves with death.

Mary grimaced, “God, that’s disgusting, Sherlock, how can you keep holding that thing?”

Sherlock sighed, “What no thank you and as far as holding repulsive long, wriggling things, Mary you certainly have no right to judge me.”

Mary looked at where her hand was resting and quickly pulled it away, as Mycroft flushed a brilliant color of red. “Sherlock, brother mine, thank you for saving us from a deadly Adder attack, now please give us some privacy.”

Sherlock smirked, dropped the body of the snake and as its lifeless form rolled through the sand Sherlock couldn’t help wondering if it tasted like chicken.

After he left Mary looked at Mycroft and they both started to laugh and as Sherlock wandered back to the palace grounds, the sound of their happiness echoed across the dunes.

After they got their laughter under control, Mycroft turned to Mary and said breathlessly, “Mary, when we get back to London, will you marry me?”

Mary looked at Mycroft in shock, for with John she had always known deep, down inside that his heart belonged to another, but Mycroft, Mycroft was intently looking at her his blue eyes  staring, for his heart belonged to her and for the first time in her life Mary felt afraid.

Mycroft reached out and held Mary close, “Don’t be afraid, Mary, just think on it, will you?”

Mary nodded and then started to giggle, “So, if we got married would we have Sherlock cater? Snake hors d’ oeuvres might just be the thing, don’t you think?” Mary laughed again  then sighed and said, “Well, I guess we’d better be getting back.”

As she moved to stand up, Mycroft pulled her back down, “Oh, no you don’t I never leave a job undone and we never got to finish what we started,” Mycroft whispered as he positioned Mary on top of him, kissing her neck, her collar bone and as Mary slipped out of the top half of her dress, Mycroft looked at her breasts, not with lust, but with wonder, for every part of Mary was beautiful.

As the days passed, Mycroft’s love for Mary grew deeper, Mary’s fear for Mycroft’s safety grew deeper and as Sherlock trained with the weapons master, his determination to go through heaven and earth to rescue John grew deeper, and Irene watched them all her eyes glittering like a lioness stalking her prey.

 

 


	25. Something New

Mycroft watched Sherlock train in the distance. He was using multiple weapons; however the goal was the same, kill the opponent. Mycroft jumped when Mary came up behind him and spoke, “Mycroft, he has been training like that for hours. Maybe you should get him to come in and rest.”

Annoyed that Mary had taken him by surprise, Mycroft snapped out an answer, “I can’t make Sherlock do anything that he doesn’t want to.”

Mary placed a hand on his arm as she kissed his shoulder, “Whatever you think is best dearest.” She said softy as she left the room.

Mycroft wasn’t surprised when a few moments later he saw Mary walking across the sand to where Sherlock was practicing, “God, she is magnificent,” Mycroft thought as he watched the silent exchange between Sherlock and Mary. Sherlock had stopped training; he looked at Mary and then glanced over to where Mycroft was standing. “Bugger,” Mycroft swore as he moved into the shadows of the room, for he didn’t want Sherlock to see him.

Sherlock watched Mary as she strode across the sand, the wind blowing her blonde hair to the side, and as the sun shone behind her, Sherlock could see every detail of her body underneath her flimsy garment, the full round breasts that narrowed down to their brownish tips, her flat stomach, her hips leading her stride, and then lower to the dark patch of…

  “Sherlock, are you undressing me with your eyes?” Mary asked in mock disapproval.

Sherlock’s green eyes bore into her blue ones, “That’s hardly necessary, your robe, your dress, your…whatever…your silly boring clothing is as transparent as a spider’s web.” Sherlock snapped.

Mary stifled a laugh,”It’s okay to be curious, Sherlock.” She giggled.

Sherlock’s neck tightened as he desperately tried not to tell Mary to sod off. “What do you want?”

Mary looked down at the ground and then back up at Sherlock, “You should come in now for you look done in.”

Sherlock peered at her waiting for another remark and when none came he sighed, “Fine, perhaps you’re right. I have something to discuss with you and Mycroft anyway.”

Mary smiled as she held out a hand for Sherlock to take, after a few moments she laughed, “It’s okay, Sherlock I don’t bite unless you want to me to.”

Sherlock’s face reddened under his tan as he brushed past her. “Let’s go.”

Mary put a restraining hand on his arm and said, “Sherlock, it’s okay to feel things. It’s okay to crave new experiences.”

Sherlock threw down the weapon he was holding, as a slave ran forward picked it up and put it the pile with the other discarded weapons. “Are you suggesting that I am attracted to you? Because that is absurd….”

Mary threw up her hands, “God, you are insufferable. Sherlock, all I am saying is that it’s not a disloyal act to John, if want to know what sex with a woman would be like. Have you ever taken a woman to bed?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and then he looked down at his feet, “I have not taken a woman to bed and I have no desire to.”

Mary shook her head, “Sherlock, you seem so young and naïve at times. Surely, you know my sister would love to have you.”

Sherlock looked at Mary intently and said, “Yes, she has made that obvious by kissing my neck, biting my earlobe, trying to maneuver her hand to a spot she has no business touching and worst of all two days ago she grabbed my hand and put it on her breast, until the ends of her---Oh, never mind,” Sherlock said angrily, for he could tell Mary was ready to laugh.

Sherlock stormed back by himself not bothering to see whether Mary was behind him or not and his longing for John became so intense that just outside the palace he threw up in a large jar. When Sherlock felt Mary’s cool hand on his neck, he almost slapped her.

“Oh, God, Sherlock I am so sorry,” Mary said as Sherlock threw up two more times. “Forgive me for teasing you.”

Sherlock nodded but refused to meet her eyes as he stared down at the pile of vomit at his feet. Mary took Sherlock’s trembling hand in her own and lightly pulled on it so that he had to look down at her. Sherlock’ troubled red rimmed eyes looked back at her with such anguish, that Mary gasped, for she had always assumed that Sherlock’s feelings could only go so deep. “Sherlock, welcome to the human race,” Mary whispered as she led him inside to where Mycroft was waiting.

Mary marveled at Sherlock’s ability to shift gears so quickly, as he strode purposefully into the room and announced that he had discovered how the underworld worked. He had discovered how to get the item that Irene so desperately sought. After he made his announcement, Sherlock went to his room and was about to undress, when Irene slithered out from behind a curtain without a stitch of clothing on. Sherlock watched in horrified fascination as she made her way towards him, only stopping when she stood directly in front of him. She smiled and then with a flick of her wrist, Sherlock’s garment fell in a silky pile at his feet.

“My dear boy, you are going to be perfect and I promise that you won’t be bored. In fact I dare say you will enjoy the game as much as I. Sherlock, I am offering you an experience that can’t be felt by reading text books or memorizing chemical charts. Let me seduce you, let me ravish you, let me burn your heart out, let me take away the pain that rips at your soul every time you wake, let me take away the dread you feel when you see another sunrise. Come on dear boy, give in to me.” Irene whispered as she laid a hand on Sherlock’s chest. “Your heart I can feel it beating,” Irene said softly as she moved her hand lower.

Sherlock’s whole body quivered in anticipation of something different and his knees felt weak as Irene whispered encouragement to him. Though Sherlock didn’t say a word his mind screamed in alarm, and though he was terrified Sherlock couldn’t help but think that this feeling was different for it was…something new.


	26. Carnal Needs

John lay on his stomach as his consciousness ebbed and flowed, for every time he attempted to open his eyes the searing pain on his backside was too much to bear. A soft voice whispered in his ear and John smiled, “Sherlock, you are such an annoying dick-head but it’s good to hear your voice. Are you coming for me? I don’t mean to beg, but Sherlock I cannot hang on much longer, for my mission here is just a waste, we both know that there is no such thing as universal peace, for people will kill each other in the name of religion until our planet ceases to exist. Sherlock, what do you think?” John thought. The only sound that came from his mouth was a mumbled, “Sherlock…”

“Sssh, John I am here, “a voice said in hushed tones.

John lay there as someone spoke softly to him while stroking his back, “Sherlock, that feels good, don’t stop,” John whispered. He then opened his eyes, gritting his teeth to bear the pain, but to John’s surprise the burning had lessened somewhat, so he cautiously looked around him.

“John, my poor dear,” Moriarty whispered as he continued to rub John’s back. “Please John, don’t leave me again. Perhaps, I went a little too far with the branding, but John you should see it, the brand I mean. It is beautiful, just a simple M for Moriarty, but I know you will love it. Oh, and you will be happy to know that the thugs who handled you so roughly are now dead. I know I should have waited for you to present at their executions, for they died most horribly, I can still hear their screams as they begged for mercy,” Moriarty sighed as he smiled. “It was a good day, John, for I will kill anyone who dares to touch you again. Just think John, you will never have to be hurt again, you are safe and I would never let you grieve like the miserable, miscreant, Sherlock. John, I am going to spoil you, pamper you, and you will be overjoyed to hear that I have lost interest in my efforts to kill Sherlock. I now have a new purpose. Do you what to know what it is?” Moriarty asked, he paused and when John didn’t answer he continued on. “John, you are my purpose,” Moriarty said as he applied oil on John massaging the tense muscles in his lower back as he did so.

After a moment or two Moriarty stopped, and knelt down so that he was facing John. Gently, he took John’s chin in his hand and began to kiss him, after a few moments he stopped. “John,” he said huskily, “hurry up and get well for I want you, God how I desire you. Rest now for I don’t trust myself not to take you here and now, for John, I want you to call for me with longing, just like you do Sherlock. I will wait for you to come to me and John come to me you will. Yes, oh yes you will my love, my heart.” Moriarty said as he kissed John’s neck and then left the room.

John closed his eyes and prayed, “Lord, you say that you will not give us more than we can bear, but I am through, I have given up, so I beg for your mercy and release from this mortal coil that ties me here. You know what it is to suffer, so plead for your understanding as I ask to be taken from this world to the next and if there is nothing but an empty void, then so much the better, for as you hung upon the cross, did you not say, ‘it is finished,’ with a sense of release? I only ask for that same escape from the hell my existence has become. Please…”

Sherlock’s knees felt so weak that he dropped to the ground, as Irene knelt beside him, wrapping her legs around his waist; she pulled his head down and began to kiss him. At first Sherlock, resisted her tongue as it begged for entrance at the door of his lips, then ever so slightly Sherlock opened his mouth and like an Asp, Irene’s tongue forced its way in and Sherlock felt as if he were going to faint as her kiss consumed him. As he leaned his head back, Sherlock absorbed the sensations of every nerve ending, for they burned as Irene’s hands moved across his chest, then his lower back as she desperately pulled him closer, then her hand reached even lower and Sherlock gasped when she touched him in a place that only John had, a place where….

“Stop….it…now,” Sherlock whispered as he crawled backwards, grabbed his garment and ran from the room. He didn’t stop until he reached the river Nile; he paused to look at Egypt’s life source and then jumped in. As the cooling water rushed over his hot body, Sherlock was surprised that the water didn’t sizzle at the contrast of temperatures-his own body and the river’s. Sherlock looked down in disgust his lower extremities and wished his body was still that of a child, a body free from physical desire, just a body that craved adventure and nothing more. “I am never having sex again, not with John, not with anyone, for Sherlock craved knowledge and freedom above all else and he didn’t want to be subject to the carnal needs of the flesh any longer.

Later on that evening, Sherlock gathered Mycroft, Mary and Irene in a room and announced, “It’s time. It’s time for me to go to the underworld.”


	27. Heart Rescue

“I’ve trained long enough and I have had it. I’ve come to the end of my rope, time to face the Underworld, time to get the scepter for Irene, time to rescue….time to rescue John,” Sherlock’s words were slow, deliberate and full of determination and without another word he left the room smiling for it was time to get John

Later on that evening Sherlock donned Bedouin garb and as he was swirling the material around his head, Mycroft and Mary entered the room. “Brother, dear, what was that dramatic outburst about this afternoon?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock ignored him as he swung a menacing looking staff over his shoulder, “This afternoon after a dip in the Nile I came to a realization when I listened to wind as it blew through the reeds. The Underworld is a puzzle, a puzzle that I have solved. You see Mycroft; the Underworld is full of archeological traps and pitfalls…”

Mycroft interrupted Sherlock, “Are you telling me that you believe the Underworld is real?”

Sherlock sighed, “No, not in the sense the ancient Egyptians do. The Underworld I speak of is a maze and the specter is a real object and if what I suspect is correct there is a scroll inside, which I will use to bargain for John. The masons long ago figured out the steps to insure safe passage and Mozart put the solution in an aria from The Magic Flute. You know the aria that I speak of don’t you, Mycroft?”

Mycroft nodded, “It’s the aria where Tamino and Pamino are led through the trials of hell, correct?”

Sherlock nodded affirmatively, “Yes, that’s it and…”

Mary threw up her hands and said, “Look you two, this isn’t PBS, quote opera lyrics some other time. Sherlock, Mycroft, let’s go I’m anxious to get back home. Oh and Sherlock I am so sorry about this afternoon, you do forgive me, don’t you?”

Sherlock pursed his lips, looked down at the ground and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mary and we’re wasting time and I sense that John…John is running out of time

So, in the dead of night Mycroft, Mary and Sherlock, went to a secret passage behind the Great Pyramid of Giza and as Sherlock hummed the melody from Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute, he stepped through the passages of time until he found his prize, the scepter. Sherlock’s hands shook as he unscrewed the head of the specter and pulled out an ancient looking scroll. He stuffed the scroll in his robe, threw the scepter on the ground, and from torchlight he read the magic words that allowed he and the rest of his party the where with all to transmute through time to John.

Moriarty was having John force fed and he was out of his mind with worry that he would lose his beloved Doctor. It was after a particularly unsuccessful feeding that Moriarty heard a noise and as he turned around he openly gaped for Sherlock stood in the doorway like an avenging angel, his eyes full of hate, his posture war like and as he pulled out a scroll from the folds of his robe, Mycroft and Mary came to stand behind him. “I have the scroll, now give me John,” Sherlock said his voice devoid of emotion.

Moriarty walked over and pulled John’s head up by his hair, then let go of it, and Sherlock watched in despair as John’s head hit the table he lay on with a dull thud. Moriarty shrugged, “You’re welcome to what’s left of him, now hand me the scroll like a good boy, Sherlock.”

In his haste to rush to John’s side, Sherlock broke the cardinal rule of warfare, he let his emotions take charge and as he ran past Moriarty, Moriarty grabbed the scroll from Sherlock’s hands and before he knew it, Moriarty double backed around the back of Sherlock to the other side of John. Moriarty drew a knife from his waistband and held it to John’s throat, “Sherlock, you’ve lost. Watch while I slit John’s throat, watch your heart bleed out and die.”

Sherlock reached forward in a pleading gesture and as Moriarty raised his knife in the air for a killing thrust, a thrust that would cut John’s carotid artery without getting stuck in the cartilage and the small bones in his neck, John opened his eyes and looked up at Moriarty and Moriarty paused, held captive by those dark, blue eyes. In that one moment, Moriarty knew he had lost for to kill John would not only burn out Sherlock’s heart, it would burn out his own heart out as well. “I love him, Sherlock, take him before I change my mind,” Moriarty said softly, and then he bent down, kissed John on the forehead as tears coursed down his face. “Good Night Sweet Prince,” Moriarty said and then he turned and fled without another word.

Sherlock paused for a second and then rushed forward to gather John in his arms, “John, John look at me, it’s time to go home, John?”

John didn’t answer he just looked at Sherlock in confusion. Mycroft let go of Mary’s hand and came to stand beside Sherlock, “Sherlock, we need to get John out of here for he’s in a cationic state. We can help him later, we mustn’t be late when we meet Isaac at the transfer point, or we may never make it home.”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, then bent down and gently picked up John and held him close. He felt so light, as if he were just a child, Sherlock still didn’t speak as he settled John in his arms;he just nuzzled John’s neck.

John opened his eyes; he appeared to be in a tent, “Where am I now?” He mumbled.

A gentle hand caressed the back of his neck, “John, you’re home, here in my arms.”

John didn’t reply just buried his head in the crook of Sherlock’s arm, breathing the scent of him. A slight pungent odor, which consisted of sweat, desert sand and some sort of tobacco smoke, filled his nostrils. Thinking it was just another cruel trick of Moriarty’s John didn’t look up, for he didn’t have the strength to face yet another disappointment.

Sherlock turned John’s face to look up at him and John openly wept when he looked into Sherlock’s green eyes. His sobs filled the tent, causing Mycroft and Mary to discretely leave through the tent flat. Tears poured down Mary’s face as she gripped Mycroft’s hand, “Dear God, how are we going to fix this?” She whispered.

Mycroft looked down at the ground, as several curious Bedouins looked on and John’s horse Hope struggled against his tether to rush to his master’s side, for John’s sobs rose above the wind and the hairs on the back of Mycroft’s neck stood on end, for John’s moaning seemed inhuman.

 Mycroft struggled to regain his composure as he shakily replied, “They’ve made it through worse, I’m sure they will be…just…just fine.”


	28. It's All Good,Everything's Fine

As Sherlock made his way to a nearby Bedouin Oasis, John barely stirred in his arms, he was wrapped up tight in a blanket and Sherlock held his charge as if he was a hand-blown glass ornament.

“John, we’re almost there, so hang on and then I will give you a nice refreshing bath. The water is quite warm and I am quite sure you will enjoy it.” Sherlock said softly as he looked down into John’s vacant expressionless eyes.

Sherlock slipped a little in the sand as he made his way to the water, but continued to hold tightly on to John. Once he reached the water’s edge, Sherlock removed the blanket that held John’s body as he eased his him into the pool. John’s eyes got bigger when he felt the water wash over him, but Sherlock held him tight and then helped him stand as he sponged him off.  Sherlock winced at the feel of the bones that protruded from John’s thin frame being careful not to touch the red-looking brand of the letter “M”, that Moriarty had burned into his flesh.

When Sherlock had first seen the brand, he felt as if he was going to faint, as it was he had fled the tent John was in and threw up his breakfast of flat bread and olives, as the camels brayed with curiosity at the sounds of his retching. John had not spoken since he had been rescued, yet Sherlock felt certain that he could understand what the people around him were saying. A faint movement brought Sherlock’s mind back to the present for John was wriggling his toes in water.

“Quite refreshing, isn’t it?” Sherlock said in a cheerful voice as he steadied John’s body against his own. Guilt flooded Sherlock’s mind for as John leaned back into him Sherlock become aroused when he felt John’s lower back rubbing against his groin. “Well, bath time is over, let’s go back and get some lunch,” Sherlock said as he lifted John out of the water, working to avoid eye contact when John’s wet torso emerged from the water. Though Sherlock tried he couldn’t help sparing a glance at the patch of flattened pubic hair that lay swirled in different directions against John’s white skin, beads of water lay curled up in its folds, and Sherlock took a deep breath as his eyes followed each droplet downwards to….”Jesus, get a hold of yourself,” Sherlock thought as he ran over and wrapped a blanket around John, his heart almost breaking when John held out his arms to be lifted up like a small child. As Sherlock held John close to his chest, he was rewarded with a small smile that Sherlock’s memory grasped upon for future reference, so that he need only recall it when darkness threatened to overwhelm his soul.

“John,” Sherlock whispered as he kissed his forehead.

Once they were back in the tent, Sherlock helped John get dressed and then waited for a woman to bring them something to eat. Sherlock dreaded meal times for it was like forcing a toddler to eat. Finally, Sherlock settled on bribery telling John that if he ate a few bites he would take him outside that night to visit his horse, Hope.

Though John was perfectly capable of walking on his own, the brilliance of the desert sun, heat, and general activity of the camp during the day were all too much stimuli for him and often he would drop to the ground and hug his knees and rock. So, that was when Sherlock resorted to taking John out at night to exercise with his horse.

John liked his hair washed at night, his skin was so sensitive to touch that the first time Sherlock attempted to wash John’s hair, John screamed as if the water was boiling hot. After testing the temperature of the water and finding it tepid, he realized that John’s skin must be so sensitive due to his PTSD. Now, Sherlock gently massaged Jojoba oil into John’s scalp, and then cupped his hands in the wash basin, until John’s hair was clean. The process was very laborious and as Mycroft watched them he marveled at Sherlock’s patience.

When he was through Sherlock gently rubbed the excess moisture out of John’s hair and asked, “John, how is that?”

John licked his lips and stuttered out the word, “Good, everything’s…fine.”

Sherlock didn’t miss the nuance as he thought back to the time when he and John had dinner at Angelo’s and John had asked him about his dating life.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” John had asked.

“Girlfriend, no, not really my area,” Sherlock had replied.

“A boyfriend? Which is fine by the way.” John had said.

Sherlock closed his eyes and remembered his last words to John’s questions about his sexual orientation, “Thank you.” Sherlock had said after John protested that he wasn’t asking Sherlock out.

“We would have saved so much time if one of us had just said yes that night,” Sherlock thought as he extended his hand to John and led him outside to where Hope was restlessly pacing.

 


	29. Carnal Needs

Day by day John made progress and one evening as Sherlock watched John playing and laughing with Hope, he felt a twinge of jealousy for John had not laughed or played with him since he had been rescued.

“Stupid horse,” Sherlock thought as he kicked at the sand and shivered as the desert wind cut through his clothes. “John, he’s magnificent,” Sherlock thought as his teeth chattered not only from the cold but also from the desire he felt as the moonlight illuminated John’s face, his shoulder length hair, his beard, “God,” Sherlock thought as another chill shook his body. “How does anyone ever survive physical desire, lust, love, domination, despair? How am I going to survive it? I am so alone,” Sherlock thought as he rubbed his arms to keep them warm.

As if sensing his thoughts, John turned Hope around until they were standing directly in front of Sherlock. “Ride?” John asked softly as he held his hand out to help Sherlock up on the horse’s back.

Sherlock took John’s outstretched hand, jumped a little to assist his ascent and then he was on the horse’s back. Hesitantly, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist, rubbing his bearded face against John’s neck, burrowing his nose into John’s hair giving in to the stimuli until John’s scent filled his nostrils. The horse danced around a little as he adjusted to Sherlock’s weight and then they were off riding through the night. The horse carried them across the moonlit sands as Sherlock, John and Hope’s movements became one. Sherlock clutched his hands tightly around the folds of John’s clothing in an attempt to keep his arousal at bay. As they rode into camp Sherlock was thoroughly miserable and angry, so that when Hope came to a stop he slid down to the ground as quickly as possible. Looking up at John, Sherlock held up his hands to help John down, closing his eyes when John’s hands accidently grazed his nipples.

John looked at Sherlock in concern as he clutched his stomach and turned away. “Sherlock, you okay?” John asked in bewilderment.

Sherlock nodded silently, “Yes, fine John, just go to bed I will be there in a little bit.”

Sherlock watched John as he walked away, put Hope away in his corral and then ducked inside their tent. Once Sherlock was certain John was safe he paced around the other abodes, quickly passing the one where he could hear Mycroft and Mary making love, their cries echoing through the silence of the night. The growing tightness between his legs was making it difficult to move as Sherlock made his way to the camel pens, and doused some water from their trough over his torso area. Irritability, Sherlock looked up into the curious brown eyes of a camel and said, “Don’t look at me that way you have a bevy of mates to choose from I only have one.”

Sherlock curled up in the sand resisting the urge to jerk off, as he pressed his hand firmly on the offending growing hardness between his legs. “No, I’m not doing this,” Sherlock muttered as he rolled back and forth on the ground.

“Sherlock, what’s happened? I came out to get Mary a drink of water and…” Mycroft’s voice trailed off when Sherlock’s tear stained eyes looked up at him, observing where Sherlock’s hands clenched the folds of his robe.

“How you keep from feeling? How can I control this? Why can’t my desires remain dormant? How can I fix this?” Sherlock asked as he gasped for air.

“Sherlock, you can’t unrig a bell and eventually your body will adjust.” Mycroft said softly as he turned away from Sherlock’s humiliating position.

“I hate this, just hate it,” Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

“I know brother mine I find riding an exercise bike to be helpful in distracting the carnal needs of the flesh. There is no easy fix,” Mycroft said as he turned around and looked back at Sherlock. The anguish on his face made Mycroft want to scream for he could do nothing to ease Sherlock’s pain and frustration. “Goodnight, Sherlock, don’t stay out here too long there are wild animals about.”

 


	30. Homecoming or Heartbreaking?

Today was the day, the day that John would need to be ready to travel, for a transfer point was opening just outside of Jerusalem and Isaac had informed them that it would be awhile before they would be able to access it again. Sherlock was worried that John wasn’t strong enough to travel and even though his speech patterns were improving he still had horrendous nightmares and his appetite was non-existent.

“John, as soon as the sun sets we will have to head out for Jerusalem, so we can get home. Do you understand?” Sherlock asked for John wasn’t making eye contact which usually meant he was disengaged. “John, can you hear me?” Sherlock asked again as he gently put his fingers under John’s chin and lifted his head so that he had to make eye contact.

John avoided Sherlock’s intense gaze and then after a few moments he looked up into Sherlock’s face. “Yes, I understand, we’re going home, right?”

Sherlock nodded as he took John’s hand in his own. “Yes, John we’re going home.”

That night they all said their good-byes to the tribe and headed out. John insisted that Sherlock ride on his horse with him and since he was a strong sturdy animal Sherlock had no objections. The moon was full, bathing their journey in a ghostly blue light; Sherlock’s eyes became heavy laden with sleep, so he nuzzled his face under John’s pony tail and rested until they came to a stop at an oasis.  Taking one more whiff of John’s scent, Sherlock reluctantly slid off the horse and made his way over to where the camp was being set up for the blistering sun was already starting to make its appearance. After their tent was assembled, Sherlock took John by the arm and led him to their home for the day.

As they lay side by side, John burrowed closer to Sherlock until they were a perfect fit, and Sherlock couldn’t resist the impulse to lick the back of John’s neck. John rolled over until he was on top of Sherlock. “Are you feeling tense Sherlock? Do you want me to jerk you off?” John said as he reached his hands into the folds of Sherlock’s clothing. When John’s hands found their target, Sherlock gasped, amazed at how his body thrust itself desperately towards John’s fingers.

“Sherlock, you do want me to jerk you off just like I did Jim? Does it bother you that I slept with Moriarty?” John asked softly as his hand struggled to control Sherlock’s body.

As difficult as it was Sherlock pulled away from John and whispered through gritted teeth, “John, I know you slept with Moriarty and I don’t care.”  

John smiled back and continued where he left off and as the first rays of the daylight illuminated John’s face, Sherlock wriggled out of John’s grasp, for John’s eyes held no expression, just like a corpse, they stared vacantly back at Sherlock. Though John, wasn’t asleep he wasn’t fully cognizant either. Sherlock blinked and then tested his theory by gently reaching between John’s legs, nothing, no pulsing firmness, no radiating warmth begging for release, there was no response, it felt as wilted and dry as a drought parched plant. John reached back into Sherlock’s clothing and Sherlock felt like he was being tortured as he allowed John’s fingers to entwine around him for a second before he rolled away from John and stood up.

“John, this isn’t right, as much as I want you, the desire needs to be mutual,” Sherlock emphasized each word as if they were his last and then bent down kissed John on top of the head left the tent and walked over to where the camels where tethered. “Shut up,” Sherlock snapped as the camels watched him relieving himself yet again.

The next night Sherlock and the rest of the party waited for Isaac to meet them at the designated transfer point and Sherlock didn’t know whether he felt full of excitement or dread, for they were going home and if John’s spirit remained broken, it wouldn’t be a homecoming it would be a heart breaking-his heart-Sherlock’s heart.

After a few hours, Isaac materialized out of the darkness, and gave Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Mary their instructions, but when he started to lead Hope away from the party, John and the horse fought to remain together. “I’m not leaving without him,” John screamed as he slapped Isaac hands away from Hope’s bridle.

Isaac let John take the horse as he made soothing sounds to John and his agitated horse, “John, I can try and transmute the horse, but there is no guarantee he will transfer. I have never tried to transfer an animal before; I’m not sure how to go about it.”

John’s pale face seemed to glow in the moonlight, he looked fierce and determined as he said, “Try, because I’m not leaving without him.”  

They all stood in the circle once more and Sherlock felt a pang of jealously when John genuinely smiled as he patted the horse’s neck.

“There is a transfer point not too far from Mycroft’s estate, that is where I will send you,” Isaac said as his eyes began to glow. Sherlock stared into their depths and then everything blurred out of focus.


	31. Are you going to leave me?

Like a Jurassic predator Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and the first thing he noticed was that he was lying on his stomach in a patch of dew covered grass and he was naked. Confused Sherlock sat up and noticed John standing above him, also naked holding on to Hope’s mane. Mary and Mycroft were the last to stand to their feet and Mary gasped when she realized she was naked and that Sherlock was openly staring at her breasts her stomach and all points below.  

Mycroft walked over and smacked the back of Sherlock’s head, “Sherlock, enough.”

“Ouch, what was that for? After all everyone here has seen Mary naked but me and by the way I am also naked and you don’t see me cringing like a virgin on her wedding night.” Sherlock said as he rubbed the back of his neck. He then paraded in front of Mary standing in front of her in a challenging pose.

Mary sighed, “Sherlock, for God’s sake cover yourself, you’re going to scare the horse.”

Sherlock’s face flushed and he opened his mouth to say something, but then he felt John tugging at his hand, “Come over here with me, on the other side of Hope,” John whispered softly and then as if he feared he had said too much, John bowed his head and retreated into his own type of mind palace.

Sherlock wanted to say, “Let me in,” but instead he just walked over and stood on the other side of the horse waiting for Mycroft to say something.

Mycroft stood beside Mary and looked around him, “We are on the grounds of my estate and there is an uninhabited caretaker’s cottage not too far from here. We should be able to rustle up some clothes, in the meantime let’s hope we don’t get caught.”

Hope on hearing his name threw back his head and whinnied and everyone including John laughed.

A few hours later and they all sat in Mycroft’s living room looking at each in silence. “It all seems like a dream,” Mary said.

Mycroft nodded and looked over at Sherlock, but Sherlock didn’t return his gaze for he was staring at John. John gazed out the window his eyes glassy, not taking in anything that was happening around him. “God,” he looks like a concentration camp victim,” Sherlock thought as he observed John’s thin frame for his bones poked through the garments that Mycroft’s domestic help and gathered together. They couldn’t find anything to fit John and finally had to settle for some clothes from the housekeeper’s teenage son.

When the housekeeper brought in a tray of food, Sherlock unsuccessfully tried to get John to eat and after a half hour of Sherlock tempting John with different morsels, they were both exhausted.

“Sherlock, I want to take a nap,” John said, his voice heavy from fatigue.

After Sherlock settled John in he went downstairs and joined Mary and Mycroft on the couch and plopped down between them because he knew it would irritate Mycroft. “Sherlock,” Mycroft said as he disengaged his arm from underneath his brother. “Now, that we are back home you are going to have to face the fact that John might have to be hospitalized, institutionalized or at the very least put on medication.”

Sherlock angrily jumped up from the couch and shouted, “You want me to lock John up, drug him, maybe you want me to put him down, like Redbeard?”

Mycroft slammed his first down on the arm of the couch. “Oh, for God’s sake Sherlock calm down. You’ve injected enough drugs into your own system; I see no reason why you should object to John receiving the drugs he might need.”

Sherlock’s lower lip stuck out slightly, “I just…just don’t want his personally to be affected. I don’t want him to change.”

Mycroft looked sadly up at Sherlock and said, “He already has.”

Sherlock looked pointedly at Mycroft for a few moments and then without a word left the room and made his way up to John’s room, quietly creeping in. Sherlock watched John sleep for a few seconds and then climbed in bed beside him, ashamed that the thought of injecting a needle into his own vein and then John’s aroused him to the point that his groin began to harden. John opened his eyes and drowsily smiled at Sherlock. “Sherlock, do you need help?” John asked as his expert hands immediately found their mark.

Sherlock gave in for a few moments, sighing in pleasure and then rolled away from John’s grasp. “Not yet, John, not this way,” Sherlock said as he sighed in resignation.

Sherlock turned to make his way to the cold, sterile bathroom when John called to him, “Sherlock, are you going to put me away?”

Sherlock didn’t approach the bed but said, “John, I would never do such a thing, if you were to  be locked up it would be over my dead or dying body, so never fear I am like a bad penny, I always turn up. John Hamish Watson as long as I live you will be safe, I promise.”

John nodded and then dove under the covers leaving Sherlock to make his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. As Sherlock, completed his grim task with clumsy jerking motions, he was grateful that he was alone without the watchful eyes of the camels gloating over his distress. “Wretched, animals,” Sherlock thought as he quickly released in his hands, his eyes tearing up from dissatisfaction and embarrassment.

 

 

 


	32. Matter of Fact

Sherlock was mentally exhausted for John had therapy two times a week, as well as treatments from his primary care physician to address the side effects of so many months of malnutrition, and to top it off he needed extensive dental procedures as well. John had assured Sherlock that he was perfectly capable of going to the appointments on his own; however invariably after John returned home, he had forgotten what the Doctor had said and worse yet on the way to his therapy appointment one day, John became so overstimulated by the everyday noise of London that he hid in a darkened alley and called Sherlock to come and get him.

Sherlock loved John, yet he was antsy, anxious to be on a case, to play the game and worse yet he was bored, which led to smoking, which let to using. “Not too much,” Sherlock thought as he stuck the needle in his scarred arm and then sighed as he felt the drug coursing through his system, the injection hurt pretty bad this time, which meant that the vein was collapsing and Sherlock would have to find another injection site. He had just hidden the little red box with all of his paraphernalia in it when John padded into the room.

“Um Sherlock?” John asked in a timid voice.

Sherlock sighed, “What is it John?” he snapped.

“My therapist asked if perhaps you would join me at our next session. So, dddoo, you..thinkkk that would be possible?” John stammered.

Sherlock ignored John’s stammering and asked, “Why?”

John moved back and forth on each foot, “Well, she thinks it would be good if…if…if..”

Sherlock was thoroughly pissed at himself and John by this time, “For God’s sake John, send me an email or text if you can’t manage a complete sentence.”

John’s face turned a shade paler as he turned to leave. Sherlock jumped out of his chair and lightly took a hold of John’s arm and led him back into the room. “John, I’m sorry, of course I’ll go. Although, I don’t see why she wants me there, do you think she wants a threesome?” Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he imagined John’s therapist naked, her smooth brown skin glistening in the sunlight, walking slowly toward him. “Nope,” Sherlock thought, “It doesn’t do a thing for me; however if she watched while John and I went at it like rabbits that would be intriguing,” Sherlock thought as a pulse deep inside his groin began to throb.

John stood in front of Sherlock’s chair, looking down at Sherlock’s crotch as it grew. “Like Jiffy pop,” John said and then without a word knelt down and unbuckled Sherlock’s pants.

“No, John, not yet, I want you to be well first,” Sherlock protested, but John had already begun to work on him. “God, it felt marvelous to feel the touch of John’s hands, fingers and mouth.” As John’s hand movements became stronger, Sherlock could no longer resist. “I’m too high to fight this and plus I don’t care who gets me off right now, just as long as I get off,” Sherlock thought as he leaned his head back on the chair, letting his body become relaxed as John methodically went through the bases. John’s brow frowned in concentration as he applied a little more muscle to the job at hand and Sherlock noted in despair that John’s facial expressions were blank, no arousal, no joy, nothing.

A couple of days later, Sherlock sat with John in his therapist’s office, feeling as if he had been naughty and sent to the head master’s office.

“Now, John how is your appetite?” She asked softly.

When John didn’t answer Sherlock did, “He eats less than I do, if that’s possible.”

The therapist looked over at John, “John is this true?”

John smiled, then blushed and mumbled, “Yep, yep that’s pretty much correct.”

The therapist wrote something down and then asked, “What about your sex life?”

Sherlock shifted in his chair and rolled his eyes. “Maybe she does want to have a threesome,” Sherlock thought as he observed her shrewdly.

John looked down at his hands, “I can’t function that way anymore.”

It was stated as a matter of fact, as if he had looked out the window and said, “It’s snowing outside.”

The rain beat on the windows outside and Sherlock longed to be anywhere but here. One minute before the session was due to end, Sherlock jumped up and said, “That’s all the time we have for today.”

The therapist opened her mouth to say something and then shut it when she saw the look on Sherlock’s face.

The cab ride home was dismal and Sherlock barely waited for the cab to come to a stop before he jumped out and ran inside. Once inside his temper didn’t abate for standing there in his kitchen was Mycroft.

“What do you want?” Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft was about to reply when John stuck his head around the corner, “Sherlock, I’m tired I’m going to take a nap.”

Sherlock waved him off, “Fine, fine, have a good rest John.”

After John was gone Mycroft looked down at his brother in concern, “Sherlock, have you lost weight? You don’t look well.”

Sherlock glared up at Mycroft, “I’m fine now what do you want?”

Without a word Mycroft grabbed Sherlock’s arm and jerked up his shirt sleeve, gasping when he saw the familiar puckered patterns of destruction along his vein. “Sherlock, God.”

Sherlock wrenched his arm out of Mycroft’s grasp and said, “Oh, shut it, you’d do the same if all you did was watch John putter fearfully around the flat like a scared cat, while I clean up after him, give him medication, ride with him to appointments and comfort him while he retches like a frat boy in the toilet.”

Mycroft looked down at Sherlock sadly, “It’s hard to grow up, brother mine.”

Sherlock was about to reply when they both heard the front door softly shut. “Who was that?” Sherlock mused out loud.

He didn’t really want an answer but Mycroft answered anyway, “Probably, Mrs. Hudson.”

Sherlock turned a shade paler and then jumped up, “It wasn’t Mrs. Hudson, it was John.”

 

 

 


	33. He's My Date

“Run, I must,” John thought as he ran down the street in a panic. “Sherlock and I have to re-define the nature of our association, just friends, just friends, “John mumbled aloud.

He bumped into several pedestrians as John sought shelter from the rain behind a trash bin. He had only been there a few moments when a figure pulled him gently out into the open, thinking it was Sherlock, John relaxed, only to stiffen when he saw who it really was.

“Moriarty,” John gasped aloud as John held him at arm’s length.

Moriarty sighed as he took off his coat and wrapped it around John, “For God’s sake John we’ve slept together, I think you can call me Jim.” When John didn’t answer Moriarty pulled him towards the light, “Jesus, John, you look awful. Hasn’t that piss-ant Sherlock been taking care of you? Never mind I can see he hasn’t,” Moriarty sighed as he noted how John’s clothes hung loosely on his caved in body. “I gave you back to him and how does he repay my precious gift? He neglects you. John please just come away with me, for I will cherish you, love you, spoil you like you’ve never been spoiled in all of your life. John everyone in your life has taken you for granted, now it’s your turn. It’s your turn to be special.” Moriarty whispered as his luminous brown eyes stared into John’s frightened blue ones.

“You’ll have to take me by force, for I’m not going back to him and I’m not going with you either. How much do you love me, Mor..Jim? Enough to let me go?” John stated his voice quivering towards the end of his sentence.

Moriarty smiled as he smoothed John’s hair down, “John, Sherlock can come away with us, he can be your little pet, I’ll even get him a collar, and you can parade him around naked, trust me he’ll love it.” Moriarty said as he slipped his hands around John’s waist letting them rest in the small of his back. “It appeals to you doesn’t it?” Moriarty whispered as he ran his tongue along John’s neck and then bit on his shoulder until a trickle of blood ran down John’s back. He then brushed his hand up against John’s pelvis, “Aw John, I am disappointed for I felt sure this would have aroused you. God, you were fine in that area with me, that duplicitous little turd, Sherlock has ruined you, how I hate him.” Moriarty spat.

John pulled away from Moriarty’s grasp and said firmly as he handed him back his coat, “Good-bye, Jim.”

Moriarty looked so sad and vulnerable for a moment that John was shocked.  Then a transformative evil spirit seemed to drift over his features as Moriarty scowled. “John, I won’t force you for I want you to come with me willingly. I am purchasing an estate not too far from Mycroft’s and you and Hope would be quite comfortable there I assure you.”

John smiled sadly at Moriarty, “No, I’m sorry.”

Moriarty turned away from John and said calmly, “At least let me drop you somewhere, it’s freezing out here.”

Without a word John turned away from Moriarty squaring his shoulders against the frigid air.  He had only walked a few steps away when another figure called out to him, “Doctor Watson, is that you?”

John squinted into the darkness; half expecting it to be some trick of Moriarty’s, but it was only a member of Sherlock’s homeless network. “Bill, Bill, Wiggins, isn’t it?” John asked softly.

“Yes, yes that’s right, Doctor Watson.” Bill replied impressed that John remembered him for the homeless were invisible to most. His large eyes took in John’s appearance and he frowned. “Doctor Watson, you look done in. Do you want me to fetch Sherlock?”

John shook his head vehemently, “No, no, I’m fine.”

Bill sized up the situation in a moment. “He has nowhere to go,” Bill thought. “Look Doctor, there’s a place you can rest quietly if that sounds fine to you.”

John nodded,” It sounds fine, thank you, Bill.”

Bill beamed, “No, problem Doctor Watson.”

John jammed his cold hands in his pockets and then said, “Lead on, oh and please just call me John.”

“Okay, John, follow me,” Bill Wiggins said proudly.

 

Sherlock ran out of the flat in a panic for John was nowhere to be seen from the upstairs window. “Damn it, where could he be?” Sherlock thought as he looked around the empty streets. Like a dog that has lost the scent Sherlock wandered around the rain soaked streets unable to deduce John’s trail. He was just about to resort to calling Lestrade for assistance when Bill Wiggins materialized in front of him.

“Sherlock, I know where John is, interested?” Bill Wiggins said with a smug smile on his face.

Sherlock grabbed him by the front of his shirt, “Take him to me now.”

Bill Wiggins looked offended and then straightened his shirt after Sherlock released him. “I should make you say please, but John needs you, so I will refrain from any pettiness, which is more than I can say about you.”

Sherlock ignored him as he followed at a discrete distance. “As soon as he leads me to John I am going to strangle him,” Sherlock thought angrily.

After a few blocks, Bill turned off into a deserted stretch of town, a place had of abandoned factories from long ago; he stopped before a particularly dismal, graffiti strewn structure motioning for Sherlock to follow him.

Sherlock grabbed Bill’s arm just before they went inside, “How could you have taken John to..to this place,” he hissed.

Bill Wiggins paused, “Someone had to care of him, didn’t they?”

Sherlock swallowed and silently motioned for Bill to lead the way. The place was cold and dank and smelled of crack pipes, body odor, mold, urine and vomit. Sherlock held his arm to his nose as they wound their way through passed out clients on dirty mattresses, then Bill took a sharp right and opened a door that creaked as it turned on its hinges and there curled up on a dirty mattress was John.

Sherlock ran forward, stumbling over glass bottles, dirty baby diapers, trash and refuse that he didn’t want to speculate on what the piles of sludge were. John turned over, looked at Sherlock and said sleepily, “Sherlock have you come for me?”

Sherlock nodded, took off his jacket, and put it around John’s shaking shoulders. “John, let’s go home.’

John shook his head, “No, Sherlock, I think we need to redefine the nature of our association. We just need to be friends and I have to find a place to heal so that you can go back to living a life without my burdens dragging you down.”

Sherlock sat down on the dirty mattress next to John and said, “John, you are a burden, but life without you is intolerable. You mustn’t listen to me when I ramble on, it’s just that this whole thing is so frustrating and I can’t make it go away, I let you down, I didn’t protect you.”

John smiled and shook his head, “No, Sherlock, you’re perfect and you haven’t done anything wrong. If you want I’ll come back with you until I find another place to stay.”

Sherlock pulled John to his feet, staring at him intently and then he spoke softly, “John, 221b Baker Street is your home and your place is with me, by my side and if you desire it, in my…my bed.”

John looked down, “Sherlock, how can you want me, after I slept with…with Moriarty.”

Sherlock was breathing heavily by this time, trying in vain to control himself, “John, I don’t care if you’ve slept with everyone in London, you are the most…the most…”

Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he took John in his arms and kissed him, letting his tongue trail down to where Moriarty had bit him, licking the dried blood as he fought to keep from ripping John’s clothes off right then and there. The bite had re-opened and Sherlock gasped in pleasure, as he sucked on John’s neck, heedless of anything but the taste of John’s blood in his mouth.

“Sherlock, take me now,” John whispered as he felt a stirring in his groin.

Sherlock looked around, “John this place is filthy.”

“I don’t care,” John said as he unbuckled his pants.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he pushed John down on the mattress, placed his knees on each side of John, squeaking a little when John slipped his hand down between his legs.

“Sherlock, I want to be inside you, but we don’t have any you know,” John gasped as he desperately pulled at Sherlock’s groin.

Sherlock was shaking so hard by this time he was starting to feel light headed, “Here use this.”

John took the small round container and looked back at Sherlock speculatively, “Sherlock this is lip balm.”

“It doesn’t have menthol in it, so go ahead use it,” Sherlock rasped as John dug his fingers into the small container.

While John was getting ready, Sherlock stuck his tongue in John’s ear, reveling as he sucked on John’s earlobe. “I want to taste you,” Sherlock said as he licked under John’s armpit.

John chuckled and then grabbed ahold of Sherlock’s hair, “Sherlock, prepare to boarded,” John whispered, his voice low, sexy, menacing, just the way Sherlock liked it.

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s waist, pulling his further in. John didn’t last long and he leaned back laughing as Sherlock, played with his limpness.

“Shit, I sure didn’t last long,” John said as he watched Sherlock playing with him like a cat that has just popped a balloon.

“Sherlock, I love you,” John said, as his lips worked their way down Sherlock’s body, his tongue meeting Sherlock’s need with expertise.

Sherlock whimpered as John worked him hard, and then moaned in pleasure as he released in John’s mouth.

John lay in Sherlock’s arms, not minding that Sherlock was smoking and after he finished a cigarette Sherlock sighed, “Well, John as charming as this place is, I think we should go.”

John nodded reluctant to pull his pants up. After they tidied up as best they could John and Sherlock got up and walked down the street arm in arm, stopping at Angelo’s place. As Angelo, showed them to a table he gushed over Sherlock as usual, “Sherlock, anything for you and your…your friend John Watson.”

Sherlock looked up at Angelo and corrected him firmly, “Angelo, John is not here as a friend, he is here as my date. John Watson is my date.”

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand under the table so tightly that Sherlock winced, but he would just as soon let John break every bone in his hand than let go.


	34. Sherlock's Heart

“Home,” Sherlock thought wearily as Mrs. Hudson opened the door for him and John.

As soon as they were in the flat Mrs Hudson fussed over them like a mother hen, “Oh, John, Sherlock, you both look done in. Now, I’m not your housekeeper, but I have some tea and biscuits ready for you boys.”

Sherlock nodded, his gaze far away, seeing things that only he could see, problems, solutions, deductions, murder, violence; these were the things that Sherlock felt at home with, not love, not lust, not passion, and certainly not longing.

“John, have some tea and biscuits, I’m going up to draw you a bath,” Sherlock spoke softly, keeping eye contact with John and Mrs. Hudson, but John knew that Sherlock was far away for he had learned long ago that Sherlock practiced intense scrutiny as an art and John was the only person that could tell whether he was actively engaged in any given situation or not. John looked into the vacant depths of Sherlock’s eyes for he was definitely not engaged in the domestic scene before him.

Sherlock trudged up the stairs feeling as if he were a man of eighty years or more and after he ran John a bath Sherlock sat down on the cold tiled floor and smoked a cigarette. Closing his eyes Sherlock let his mind drift, so that when John timidly knocked on the door Sherlock jumped up confused for a moment or two. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock acclimated himself and let John in. As John stood before him, all rational thought disserted Sherlock, as he slowly, silently, methodically, helped John out of his coat, then opened his shirt button, by button until the shirt fell on top of the coat, the undershirt was next, gently Sherlock slipped it over John’s head, letting it fall, and then Sherlock’s hands shook as he divested John of the rest of his clothing, until John stood naked before him in his socks.

Motioning for John to sit on the toilet, Sherlock slipped off John’s socks, pausing to sniff John’s toes, for he loved the smell of John’s clammy feet. Gently, Sherlock massaged John’s feet and then helped him into the tub, it was then that Sherlock noticed the bite on John’s shoulder.

“John, that looks like a bite.” Sherlock said slowly as he examined the small puncture marks on John’s pale skin.

“It is. After I left here Moriarty materialized out of nowhere, offered to take me away to the country and when I refused he bit me. Oh, he also said I could bring you along and that you could be our little sex pet.” John said impishly as he grinned at Sherlock’s shocked expression.

“What did you tell him?” Sherlock asked as he knelt down on the ground and peered at John intently.

John laughed, “Weren’t you listening? I told him no. Why did you want to parade around in a collar and chain as my little pet?”   

Sherlock dashed out of the room and in a few moments came back with a black, wicked looking spiked collar, which he held out to John. John took it and chuckled. “So, that’s what drives Sherlock Holmes, nuts, a collar? You know that after we all three pleasured each other that Moriarty would probably kill us don’t you?”

Like an enthusiastic puppy Sherlock threw off his clothes, tossing them on top of John’s and then he clumsily lowered himself into the tub. Splashing in the water, John laughed as Sherlock thrashed around like a silly seal. After his performance, Sherlock suddenly became serious as he inched himself forward until he could wrap his legs around John’s waist. He then pulled John closer and became to kiss him with a force that made John’s head spin.

“He wants me to seduce him,” John thought in a panic for he wasn’t sure he could take the lead. However, as John looked down into the depths of Sherlock’s shinning eyes, he knew he had to try. John got out of the tub and then helped Sherlock out, watching in fascination as the water ran down Sherlock white, translucent legs.

John smiled at Sherlock and then picked him up and carried him into the bedroom. Once they reached the bed Sherlock slid out of John’s arms like a slippery eel. Fearfully, John lay down by Sherlock’s side, positioning Sherlock’s pliant body between his legs.

“Sherlock, two times in one night might be a little ambitious, things being the way they are with me,” John’s voice trailed off as Sherlock leaned his head back and let out a long, low moan. “Umm, Sherlock I’m not there yet, are you starting without me?” John asked trying unsuccessfully to keep the nervous laughter out of his voice. Sherlock leaned his head forward, his eyes full of vulnerability; he kissed John on the lips, and then gently moved his fingers pushing in the places that John loved most.

“John, take me,” Sherlock breathed as he moved so that John could easily penetrate him. John started to hyperventilate as he complied with Sherlock’s request.  “I can’t do this,” John thought as Moriarty’s face swam before him.

As if reading his mind, Sherlock whispered into John’s ear, “John, please make me burn, make me beg, make me scream, tease me, break me, fix me, fu—“ Sherlock’s voice trailed off in a growl as John began to clumsily acquiesce to his requests.

Afterwards, John felt embarrassed, for his performance had been dismal making him feel worse than ever. Sherlock usually fell asleep after sex, but this time he rolled over and pulled John into a suffocating embrace. “Thank you, John,” he whispered in between kissing and licking John’s face.

John tried to pull away from Sherlock, but Sherlock held on to him tightly. “Sherlock, I have to take a whiz,” John said desperately, for he was about to weep uncontrollably.

Sherlock didn’t loosen his grip, “Go ahead, urinate, John, nothing could be worse than Magnusson, taking a piss in my fireplace.”

John struggled for a moment or two and then began to weep as he apologized to Sherlock over and over, “Sherlock, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” John cried out as he clung to Sherlock’s arm.

Sherlock spoke to John in French, Italian and some Asian dialect that John didn’t even know, each phrase the same as it lovingly wrapped itself around John’s fear and anguish, dissipating his negative self-destructing emotions until John lay silent in Sherlock’s arms.

“Sherlock, thank you for helping me to heal, for loving me for…” John’s soliloquy was cut short by an interruption from Sherlock.   

“Oh for God’s sake John, quit reading more into it than need be. I was horny, nothing more. I also needed to engage in sex for the case I am currently working on,” Sherlock said smugly, all traces of gentleness gone.

John smiled and leaned forward and kissed Sherlock, “All the same, thank you.” He whispered.

Sherlock looked bored and it was only until John fell asleep in his arms that he whispered, “You’re welcome, John, my Doctor, my love, my heart.”


	35. John's Tattoo

John lay back in bed watching Sherlock get dressed, it was a process that he never tired of. First Sherlock would gracefully make his way to the mirror where he could steal glances at John’s reflection, then his robe would flutter to the ground and for a moment Sherlock would stretch letting John feast his eyes on his pale white body. However, this morning was different for instead of dragging out the process Sherlock hastily put on a long sleeve shirt, the underwear next and then his trousers.

John frowned for that wasn’t like Sherlock at all for as much as he loved what he termed, “new”, Sherlock also craved ritual, “So why the change in his dressing habits?” John thought as he got out of bed and made his across the room to where Sherlock stood. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist, John kissed him on the neck and then before Sherlock could react, John slipped his shirt off. In a panic, Sherlock reached for his robe, however John was ready for him as he grabbed Sherlock’s wrist in a vice-like grip.

“Show me your arm,” John hissed as he forced Sherlock to expose the inside of his arm and there they were the fresh pucker marks that John dreaded. They marred the perfect skin on his arm and as John studied Sherlock’s body intently, the puckered marks were on his legs, the top of his feet and even the femoral vein just above his groin.

Sherlock pushed his way past John and sat down at the end of the bed, “John, I don’t want a lecture. I’ve done my best I really have, but you have no idea the kind of anxiety I face on a daily basis. People look at you, John and they understand PTSD, and they think poor John Watson, the soldier, the kidnap victim, the deserted, the jilted, the poor bastard that has to put up with Sherlock Holmes and his massive intellect. But they look at me and see nothing, they don’t see the exhaustion it takes when one’s mind rushes ahead 24/7, the lack of sleep, the boredom, the fear of becoming ordinary, the fear of losing the person that one loves most in this world, the desire, the lust the self-relieving practices that are messy and degrading, the feeling of overall dread. John, it’s enough to kill a person.”

John looked down and silently clasped his hands tightly in his lap. Sherlock scooted closer to him and laid a moist cheek on his shoulder. John sighed, “Sherlock, what am I going to do with you?”

Sherlock smiled down at John and said, “Keep me pleeeeeeeeease.”

John leaned back on the bed as Sherlock crept over and kneeled over him, his eyes glassy, his lips parted slightly as he struggled to catch his breath. “John,” Sherlock whispered as he slipped his hand underneath John’s upper thigh, “John, you have poisoned me, you have ruined me, for you have unleashed in me desire, lust, basically you have turned me into an idiot.” Sherlock said as he attempted to take a deep breath. When his hand touched John’s brand, John flinched.

“John, I’m sorry does it still hurt?” Sherlock asked as the desire in his eyes changed to concern.

John looked up a Sherlock and then closed his eyes, “Sherlock, I hate that thing, but no it doesn’t physically hurt.”

Sherlock jumped up and ran over to a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to John. John took the paper and studied it, it was of a beautiful lion, its long mane framed its eyes, and John smiled for its eyes were Sherlock’s. “It’s beautiful did you draw it?”

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, I figured out that I could tattoo this over the brand.”

John measured the paper against his brand, it covered it perfectly. “How did you know the exact measurements of my brand? Have you been measuring my ass while I sleep?”

Sherlock’s eyes glazed over as he answered John as if he were in a trance, “I know the measurement of everything on your body, John.”

John grinned at Sherlock and motioned for him to come closer, as Sherlock hovered over him John reached up to touch him, “Sherlock, don’t think this distraction is going to save you from a talk about your dangerous drug habit.”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock said as he kissed John’s cheek.

John sighed, “Sherlock, I mean it.”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock whispered, moving his fingers to a place where he knew John would lose all rational thought, as his fingers worked their target John arched his body toward Sherlock.

“You bastard,” John said as he gasped in pleasure when Sherlock moved his tongue over John’s stomach.

The next day John watched Sherlock in fascination as he laid out everything he would need for John’s tattoo, like a surgeon he double checked all of his instruments, and then snapped on a rubber glove as he grinned at John wickedly, “Do you want me to check for polyps?”

“No, maybe later, just get to it.” John laughed nervously.

Sherlock wiped off the area he would be tattooing with an alcohol swab and then John could hear the buzz of the needle.  Sherlock’s touch was so gentle that John was surprised that the needle felt no worse than the sting of a cat scratch. During the whole process Sherlock spoke gently to John, asking if he needed a break was the pressure too much, etc.  After a few hours the buzz of the needle silenced and Sherlock rubbed some ointment on his artwork and covered it with a bandage wrapped in plastic wrap.

“Now, take a nap on your stomach,” Sherlock said as he playfully swatted John on the rump.

John chuckled, “Come over here, Sherlock.” Sherlock pranced over, kneeling down at John’s eye level. For the first time John noticed what Sherlock was wearing, his shirt the tight purple shirt that John loved, his pants black jeans, his feet were bare, around his neck was a black studded collar, and his eyes were rimmed with black kohl. “Jesus, Sherlock, you look, you look wonderful, too bad we have to wait to fool around until the ink sets.”

Sherlock’s bright eyes met John’s as he held up a finger, “One memento, por favor.”

A few moments later he came back with a strange looking object that he handed to John. John studied it and then his eyes widened, “Sherlock, is this what I think it is?”

Sherlock grinned, “Possibly, should we test it and see?” Then Sherlock’s grin faded, “John, we haven’t tried anything this ambitious since you were kidnapped. I’m not sure if…”

John reached out, grabbed Sherlock and as his fingers curled around Sherlock’s wrist, Sherlock felt light headed.

John encircled his cold fingers around Sherlock’s warm wrist, each one’s eyes locked on the other, not moving, not blinking, drawing strength from one another’s touch. Then Sherlock stood up and prepared John’s body with his fingers and tongue, for the trip to ecstasy and back.

 

 


	36. Let me Watch You

John lay on his back, his eyes closed, a dreamy contented look softened his features as Sherlock rubbed his hands from the small of John’s back to his neck and then back again.  
“That feels marvelous, Sherlock, don’t stop,” John slurred as a big bubble of drool escaped from his lips and plopped on the floor. Like a dog running for a table scrap, Sherlock jumped off the bed and got down on all fours, his pearly white bottom stuck up in the air like a stink bug, he then began to sniff at the puddle of John’s drool.  
John began to laugh, “Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?”  
Sherlock ignored him and after a few moments of sniffing, he jumped up. “John, you’re dehydrated, you need to drink more water.”  
John lay back in the bed and sighed. “Sherlock, I’m not even going to ask how you deduced that.”  
Sherlock grinned and a few moments later came back with a large glass filled with water and handed it to John. Skeptically, John sniffed at the water to make sure it wasn’t formaldehyde or something worse. “Sherlock, is this water?” John asked, for it wouldn’t be beyond Sherlock to put a mild form of poison in the water just to see what would happen.  
Sherlock folded his arms and turned away from John. “John, I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”  
John took a sip of the water and sighed, “Sherlock, come over here.”  
Sherlock happily complied and sat at the edge of the bed his bright eyes fixated on John. “So, Sherlock, it’s been three days since my tattoo. Are you ever going to get dressed and take off that collar? What is Mrs. Hudson were to see you like that?”  
Sherlock shrugged, “She did see me like this, yesterday while you were sleeping.”  
John put the glass down on the nightstand and sat up, “Sherlock, what did she say?”  
Sherlock looked bored, “Nothing really. She just screamed a little and then just stood there staring. Entirely too long if you ask me,” Sherlock said as he looked down just below his torso. Sherlock’s moods were enough to drive a sane person over the edge for he took a running jump and landed beside John in the bed, without a word he began to kiss John on the neck as he pushed him firmly down into the covers.  
John chuckled as Sherlock began to grasp John’s wrists tightly. “Whoa, whoa Sherlock, you of all people should know I’m not ready to re-group yet.”  
Sherlock desperately straddled his legs over John’s hips as his whole body began to shake. “Poor Sherlock,” John thought for he could tell that Sherlock had lost control of the shivering that made the muscles in his body weak. “Sherlock, this isn’t going to happen for either of us right now. Come on lay here quietly beside me.” John whispered as Sherlock took a deep breath.  
Sherlock’s muscles twitched involuntarily as he attempted to rest in John’s arms after a few moments he gave up and just took deep cleansing breaths. John tried to wriggle free of Sherlock’s grasp, but Sherlock held him tight.  
“Sherlock, I have to go pee, let me up,” John said as he tried to keep from giggling.  
Sherlock positioned his body over John and held him tight with his knees. “John, just go now.”  
John wrinkled up his face, “What? You want me to pee the bed?”  
Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, do it. I want to see just for a case of course.”  
John was openly laughing by this time. “God, you are the weirdest person I have ever known, now let me up.”  
“Fine,” Sherlock said as he rolled over in a ball.  
John smiled and shook his head, “Come on you can watch me in the bathroom if you want to. Come on, you know you want to.”  
Sherlock ignored John for a moment and then rushed after his retreating figure.   
“I feel a little self-conscious; can you give me some room?” John asked as Sherlock crowded in on him.   
Sherlock watched every move John made in rapt attention, his eyes growing wider at certain points in the process, until they both heard the sound of John’s stream hitting the water in the toilet and after John was finished Sherlock, knelt down on the floor, his head back, his eyes closed, until he felt John’s cool hand on his neck. “Come on, Sherlock, everything’s going to be okay.”  
Sherlock looked up at John with such a look of anguish that John felt momentarily off balance. Most of the time it was hard to believe that Sherlock had any feelings at all and at other times he was so intensely vulnerable that John felt that Sherlock would shatter into a million pieces if John touched him ever so slightly. Quietly, John shut the door for it was at times like these that Sherlock needed to be alone. The one time that John had checked on Sherlock in one of these moods, Sherlock had been curled up on the floor, sobbing. When John had asked if he were okay, Sherlock became so distraught that he took out his red leather Moroccan case and shot up while John had looked on in horror. John leaned heavily on the other side of the door, wishing Sherlock well.  
John went to bed and after a while fell asleep. We he awoke Sherlock was sitting at the edge of the bed fully dressed, staring at him.  
John yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Have you been watching me sleep?” He asked drowsily.  
Sherlock nodded, “Yes, you’ve been asleep for ages; it was boring watching you sleep that is.”  
John smiled and then asked mockingly, “If it was so boring why did you stay?”   
Sherlock looked down at his clasped hands and then said nonchalantly, “Mary and Mycroft are supposed to be away this weekend, so I thought it would be a good time to visit Hope and eat up all of Mycroft’s food, maybe even trash the place.”   
John laughed, “Okay, hey where is my shirt and jeans, they were piled on the floor when I went to sleep.”  
Sherlock handed John a black t-shirt with a skull and crossbones on it and a pair of black jeans. John sighed slipped on the T-Shirt; the jeans took a little bit of effort to put on. “Sherlock, these jeans are way too tight,” John gasped.  
Sherlock stared at John’s bulging package in the front of the jeans and drew in a long breath, hissing as he did so. “No, they are not too tight. Here’s your helmet. We’re taking the motorcycle.” Sherlock said curtly.   
As John positioned himself in back of Sherlock, Sherlock corrected him, “John, you need to scoot in closer to me, and don’t hang on to the back of the seat, put your arms around my waist, it’s safer that way.”  
John was about to correct Sherlock and tell him that it was much safer to hold on to the back of the seat; but instead he just scooted closer to Sherlock, grabbing him tightly around the waist, leaning his head sideways so he could rest it lightly on Sherlock’s back. After all wasn’t Sherlock the greatest detective in the world?


	37. Bringing Sherlock to Bear

After their ride to Mycroft and Mary’s house John rubbed his thighs after he got off the bike. “They’re definitely too tight,” John thought as he attempted to scratch his chafed skin through the impenetrable denim material of his black jeans.

Sherlock watched John for a moment with his head curiously tilted to the side like a curious puppy. “Definitely not too tight,” he mused aloud as he motioned for John to follow him.

John opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut as he followed Sherlock into Mycroft’s lair. After a few key cards later they were inside and John stood beside Sherlock looking up at the massive ceiling. “John, you’d think you’d never seen a ceiling before, come on,” Sherlock said impatiently as he grabbed John’s arm pulling him toward a massive couch.

“Wow, this place is amazing,” John said in awe as he snatched his arm out of Sherlock’s grasp. “I’m amazed that Mycroft gave you a key.” John said as Sherlock plopped on the couch, motioning for John to join him.

“He didn’t,” Sherlock said as he patted the cushion next to him. “Come on John, sit here,” Sherlock drawled.

John came over and asked slyly, “What do you think I am a trained cat?”

Sherlock sighed, “Of course not, everyone knows that cats can’t be trained, now get over here now.”

John laughed and sat down next to Sherlock. He had barely got settled in before Sherlock was desperately grabbing at his clothes. “Sherlock, hold up what about foreplay?” John gasped as Sherlock began to suck on his neck.

“Foreplay’s boring, besides you’ve had three years of it. I need you now,” Sherlock breathed as he snaked his hand down John’s shirt.

John leaned back and let Sherlock move his hands and mouth where ever he wanted while he tried to breathe normally. John was about to moan when the sound of a woman moaning made him stop.

“Oh Gooooooood,” a woman’s voice cried, its sound echoed around the walls.

“What the hell?” Sherlock snapped for he had just been about to undo the top button on John’s jeans when the woman’s voice distracted him. “Who is that and what’s going on?” Sherlock asked aloud as he jumped to his feet.

“Oh Goooooooood, please don’t stop,” the woman’s voice cried out again.

Sherlock looked over at John who was helplessly laughing by this time. “Come over, here Sherlock,” John giggled.

Sherlock pouted for a second, for he wasn’t used to being the one who was the last to get the joke, he then sighed and joined John on the couch. “What’s the joke?” He asked irritably.

“The woman,” John laughed and then laughed again as he tried to catch his breath, “the woman…is Mary. She and Mycroft must be well you know.”

Sherlock looked confused for a second and then rolled his eyes heavenward, “Oh God, you’ve got to be kidding me. Well, if she’s with Mycroft it shouldn’t last long.” Sherlock said as he sat next to John. After a few more cries of ecstasy from Mary, Sherlock stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Oh for God’s sake, Mycroft, finish her off.”  He then came and sat down next to John, grabbing his kohl stick from his pocket, Sherlock outlined John’s eyes in black and then surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction and about a half hour later when Mary and Mycroft descended down the stairs, Sherlock pulled John possessively into his arms. John smiled half amused and half in awe that Sherlock was still so jealous of he and Mary’s past together.

Mycroft sighed as he looked at his little brother’s flushed cheeks, “Sherlock, what are you doing here?” Mycroft drawled his usual sarcastic snap unaccustomedly absent from his voice.

Sherlock sniffed,”John and I thought we would come down and see Hope and perhaps have a sort of holiday. You were supposed to be gone this weekend anyway.”

Mary came forward and patted Sherlock lightly on his damp curly head and then kissed John chastely on the cheek, noting with amusement how Sherlock pulled John even closer. “John, how are you?” Mary asked softly.

Sherlock leaned forward and hissed, “He’s fine.”

Mary turned away to hide her smile from Sherlock and said, “John, you look marvelous, love the eyeliner.”

John winked back at her, causing Sherlock to jump up, “So, why are you two still here?”

Mary held out her hand, sporting a new wedding band, “Mycroft and I got married today, so our trip was a little delayed.”

“Congratulations,” John said as he got up to inspect Mary’s ring. He then took both of her hands in his, “Mary, I am so happy for you both and I am glad you found someone especially after I well you know…”

Mary laid a hand on John’s arm, “It’s okay, John. Really it is.”

John nodded with tears in his eyes and hugged Mary, “Mary, I’ll always love you. You know that don’t you?”

Mary nodded wordlessly and went and stood next to Mycroft. Sherlock looked around wildly not sure how to deal with the emotion that was being shared between John and Mary. Mycroft sighed, for it was time to rescue Sherlock yet again. “So, brother mine I don’t recall giving you access to my place.”

“You didn’t,” Sherlock said happy to engage in bickering with Mycroft, rather than dealing with the intense feelings of jealousy that churned in his stomach.

A few hours later John lay back on a bed in one of Mycroft’s guest rooms, “Sherlock quit pacing and come here.”

Sherlock looked over at John and for a moment John thought that he would snap at him in frustration, but Sherlock was always a surprise, for instead he ran across the room and threw himself in the bed next to John grabbing at John’s clothing aggressively. John lay passively, letting Sherlock do what he wanted and then Sherlock stopped.

“John, I want you to be the dominate one,” Sherlock said as he stopped to catch his breath.

John leaned back and sighed, “Sherlock, you know I have not been able to initiate contact since, since my…kidnapping.”

Sherlock inspected a small tear around the neck of John’s shirt, “I know that’s why you need to now, John.”

John turned away from Sherlock and then looked back into his crystal green eyes, knowing he was right. Slowly, John made his way to Sherlock’s side and began to slip off Sherlock’s shirt, only stopping when his hands began to shake. “You need to help me Sherlock,” John said in a panic.

Sherlock shook his head, “John, you need to be the dominant one, come on I know you can do it.”

John looked at Sherlock’s shirt, the way it fell in untidy wrinkles, the way it beckoned to him, its silken folds begging to be released. Slowly, John slipped Sherlock’s shirt off as he began to move his trembling lips across Sherlock’s bare chest, Sherlock grabbed a hand full of John’s hair and then let go when he felt John’s strong hands undoing the top button of his jeans. And when John slid his hands downwards, Sherlock gasped. And when John brought Sherlock to bear, he screamed longer and louder than Mary.


	38. The Day that Light Took Me

Sherlock stood watching John run through the paces with Hope, each move perfectly blended. “John,” Sherlock called out, “Take off your shirt.”

John frowned at Sherlock and came riding over, “What, did you say take off my shirt?”

Sherlock smiled shyly, “Please.”

John shook his head and grinned, “Sherlock, we’ve got to get you back to the city, for it’s obvious you are bored. I mean who wants to see my chubby, little, white belly fat flapping in the breeze while I ride a horse?”

Sherlock looked down at the ground digging in the dirt with his shoe, “I do.”

John laughed, thinking Sherlock was up to some game or other, so he pulled off his shirt, threw it to the ground and then said, “Don’t hold yourself back now.”

Sherlock took one look at John and vaulted over the fence, while John patted Hope’s neck assuring him it wasn’t an attack. “It’s okay, Hope, it’s just Sherlock, not a frontal assault.”

Sherlock pulled at John’s leg and said in his most sexy voice, “The hell it’s not.”

John loved Sherlock’s low menacing voice when he wanted kink, but his lounge lizard, gold chained, 70’s bar sexy voice made John want to laugh, but knowing how serious Sherlock was John pursed his lips and looked down at the ground. A tug later and John was in Sherlock’s arms and on the ground, while Sherlock kissed his neck, his hands fumbling at the top button of John’s jeans.

“Sherlock, wait, come on we need to talk,” John said breathlessly as he sat up.

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and said in a surly voice, “I don’t want to talk.”

“Sherlock,” John said softy as he reached over and pulled a blade of grass from Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock melted and just leaned back heavily in John’s arms. “Sherlock, it’s okay I know you’re bored and need to get back to the city. I mean your tastes in the bedroom have become more bizarre, even for you. For God’s sake you wanted me to pee in a jar, so you could drink it.”

Sherlock sighed, “It was for an experiment.”

John chuckled, “Sure it was.”

Sherlock turned to face John, “So, you didn’t like my new bedroom techniques? Because you certainly screamed like you did. Even when I covered your mouth with my hand so I could perform optimally, you moaned and bit at my fingers until they bled. I couldn’t practice my violin for a few days after that incident.”

“Sherlock, I enjoyed all of it. Now, I’ve found a place to board Hope in the city, so what do you say we get back to London? Come on,” John said as he tickled Sherlock until he started to smile and then laugh.

After a few moments, Sherlock pinned John down and began to tickle him under his arms until John begged for mercy. Sherlock, then lay back and caught his breath and said, “John, we do need to get back to the city, but Hope wouldn’t be happy in the city, so I’ve been thinking we should buy a getaway country place. What do you think?” Sherlock asked shyly.

John propped his head on his hand and said, “Sherlock, that’s a marvelous idea.”

A clapping of hands startled them both and John was instantly on his feet, for there in front of them was Moriarty with a gun in his hand. Sensing danger, Hope snorted and came prancing towards them.

“Call the horse off, or I will shoot it,” Moriarty snarled.

John panicked that Moriarty would shoot anyway and gave a hand command to the horse. Hope stopped, turned reluctantly around and headed back towards the stables. “Wow, he is just as well trained as Sherlock, isn’t he John?”

John didn’t answer Moriarty’s question, he just held out his hands in a placating gesture, “Moriarty, I did as you asked, now please don’t shoot him.”

“Sherlock or the horse,” Moriarty said nastily.

“Neither,” John answered desperately.

Moriarty laughed, “John, what kind of a person do you think I am? I would never shoot Hope. After all how do you think he made the transfer here? Through that little man Isaac? He barely had the energy to send you all back. Pathetic man, it was a pleasure to kill him.”

“You piece of shit, bastard,” John said as Sherlock held him back from charging Moriarty.

“Oh, he is well trained, John. You’ve done a marvelous job with him. Much better than I could have done, but then he is worth it, isn’t he? He is sooooo responsive in bed, a sexual acrobat, a sensuous chess master in the bedroom.” Moriarty saw the blank look on John’s face and said, “Ohhhh, so Sherlock didn’t tell you about our night together. Oh yes, John, don’t look so shocked, but don’t worry you are the official taker of Sherlock’s virginity. Sherlock, do you want to tell John about our night, or shall I?” Moriarty then held his hand cupped to his ear. “What’s that you want me to? Okay, fine then, it was after you,” Moriarty pointed to John,” moved back in with serial killer wife Mary. There was poor Sherlock on the ground of your flat, shooting up, vomiting, crying, smashing things about, it was pathetic. I was going to kill him, but then it was much better to shag him and I didn’t mind when he called out your name over and over, John. Oh and in case you’re wondering, I tied Sherlock up until he was sober, and then I shagged him. John, he was free, unfettered, no ropes, no drug induced seduction; he came to me of his own free will, three or four times as I recall. But don’t worry John he wasn’t as good as you, for you are sweet, forceful, military kink all rolled into one neat little package. God, John come over here and let’s show our little, well not so little, Sherlock how it’s done.”

John’s face had grown deathly white. “Stop it, just stop it,” he stuttered.

“Enough of this,” Moriarty hissed as he pointed the gun at Sherlock’s head.

“Moriarty, drop the gun,” Lestrade said as he stood behind Moriarty.

Moriarty looked at John and smiled sadly, “Lights out this time, Johnny.” He said then reached out further with the gun.

“No, don’t shoot,” John said for he could tell from Moriarty’s hand position that the safety was on. Moriarty winked at John and then leaned forward further with the gun.

The shot seemed to echo in John’s mind as he screamed, “Noooooooooo.”

Rushing over John caught Moriarty’s body in his arms; desperately he tried to stop the flow of blood that rushed out of the wound in Moriarty’s chest. John’s hands became engorged with Moriarty’s dark almost black blood, as he futilely attempted to stop Moriarty from bleeding out.

“John, stop, it’s okay,” Moriarty whispered as he shook in John’s arms.

“No, no, Jim, hang on, please don’t die, you can reform, you can change,” John sobbed.

Moriarty shook his head, “John, remember my journal. Remember the day that darkness took me?” John nodded as he gasped for air. “John, I can see Ann, she is here to take me back into the light. John, don’t cry, don’t worry, for today is the day that the light will take me. See, John even now my eyes are changing.”

John looked down and Moriarty’s eyes no longer looked crazed, just brown, just light brown, and then a hiss of air and Moriarty was gone.

                        ____________

Sherlock pried John’s blood encrusted hands from Moriarty’s body. Sherlock led John back into the house. Sherlock bathed John. Sherlock gave John a sedative. Sherlock then lay down beside John and slept. The next day they buried Moriarty together, forgave each other, loved each other and never for one moment did they take their light for granted.

 

 

 

 


End file.
